Here it Comes Again

There have been many articles on depression, anxiety and suicide lately. Some have gotten it right while others have completely missed the mark. These topics are hard to explain it seems. Either the article is very long winded and riddled with sciency (ha) mumbo jumbo or just… Weird and lacking any love and understanding what so ever.  Mental health is largely ignored in this country (I would imagine in others as well).  All one needs to do is walk down any city in America and get a good glimpse of one of Americas failures.  For some they only have to look in their family or worse.. The mirror to fully understand. Yet, it’s still a stigma.

In walks poetry, music or any art form really. For me, poetry and song have always been a way for me to explain… well, anything. I wrote a poem today and my muse decided it should be a song. I agreed and wrote the chords and sang the words. I do hope to find the means to record soon. Anyway, it’s my hope that people can look through the painful words and try to grasp an understanding of these topics. Be kind to yourself and others. We have no idea what others are going through when we pass them on the streets. Maybe a smile instead of a dirty look, or word, can bring someone some relief for a moment.

As always, thanks for reading. Cheers!

 

I’m trying to tell the truth
Without making everyone so mad
I really don’t feel so good
The walls are closing in… And it feels like I’m going to die

Here… Here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again

Everything hurts so bad
Pulling muscles in my sleep
Sometimes I forget to breathe
And all I want to do is cry

Here… Here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again

Rage and then I feel ashamed
Telling stories in therapy
Really takes a lot of gas
And I really can’t be bothered

Did I touch on everything
The guilt has made me so sick
Sorry I brought you so much pain
I’m sick of this and everything

Here… here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again
Here it comes again

 

© Carlson, 2014

 

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Burn

The mere thought of being successful frightens the demons awake and with a fist punch to the throat kick starts anxieties tremor show.
The mere thought of being unsuccessful breeds an anguish in the bones that will drive the ragged to the grave.
Always misunderstood. Born too late while still too soon with a rootless soul. A lonely ferrel kid learning to be an adult.
A D.I.Y. nothing man. Unmarketable talents and a wealth of knowledge from the streets to share. And no pay.
In regards to money. But… Richer then most though. Bride, kids, dog, house, health… and a deep pit of hate, rage, anger, suffering and loneliness.
Not at them.  At… Everyone else.

The forest.
The trees.
The weights.
The pen.
The paper.
The tears.
The rage.
The pain.
The humor.
The guilt.
The running… Physically and mentally. Like a mad monkey that never stops.
The chatter.  That never stops.
The cranium stadium is full. Loud crowds grow and everyone talks at the same time. No focus except the thought of a bat.
Swinging wildly. It’s madness. This was learned and used for safety. But still madness nonetheless.
No one was there.
Now there is and all that can be said is “sorry…”

A closet full of pain, a bed, thoughts, anger, resentment, hatred and clothes that belonged to someone else.
Lights out at 7pm. Sent to the streets by 4:30am. Left to roam until school. Not much to do at 15.
These are moments that make kids who they are. It’s wise to be careful and unselfish with kids. Or they will hate you.
In humor a great mask is worn. With weights one can build a great suit of armor.
With a heart full of words, and a wisp of a pen one can create something from nothing.
Make some sense from nothing.
Perhaps turn someone from nothing?

Born into this? Fine then. Let it burn.

 

© Carlson, 2014