Scenes
isn’t scenes of beastly screaming
voices drown a stasis bleeding
forcing choices vilely reeking
where I cling to my own debris
caught within I hear the chaos
chorused in a choral singing
bartered hubris numbs my senses
stripping me of all true feeling
solitary innovation
calmed by complex contemplation
choosing where it will be standing
how to save itself oblivion
no-one knows her more than she does
cheating them of goals outreaching
bringing me to where I’m ceded
alone inside a crowded room
entombed within a baleful vault
no-one leaves and doors are bolted
intellect has trialled and faltered
grieves it wouldn’t have succeeded
© 28 August 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Related quotes
I'm Dying inside
I'm dying inside, crying, bleeding, screaming
but no one can tell because I keep a straight face
on the inside i feel like killing myself
i feel like i have no reason for living
like something is eating my insides
There is a voice in my head telling me to just die
That no one wants me and sometimes I feel like its telling the truth
My inside hurts they're screaming at me because of the pain
I've tried evrything but nothing works
What should I do about the bleeding that I feel inside of me about the screaming about the pain
I cant take the pain the bleeding the screaming
I must do something
I must go somewhere where the pain will go away where everything bad goes away
I know what to do but I'm scared
But the pain the bleeding and the screaming is getting worse
I do what i have to do
I take they knife and put it through my chest
I wake up and the pain the bleeding and the screaming inside me are gone
I have gone to the better place where ther is no pain
Where there is nothing that can hurt me
There is no more dying inside me
The pain the bleeding and the screaming are all gone
poem by Nicki Faith
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Bolted in and bolted out
To be humble is not to be slave
Though outwardly they may look same.
To be in the cell with doors bolted in
Is not being in it with doors bolted out.
28.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dreaming Inside
Last night I lay awake,
Last night people were screaming- People threatening to kill me-
I was alone in my room, lying amongst dark shadows-
Looking about- nobody else was there- I thought I must be dreaming,
The whole world was threatening me, as
I was chasing away the dark shadows on the walls,
I heard voices say ‘Dream on, dream on'
But I knew I wasn't dreaming.
It was after midnight- I was not sleeping-
All I could do was cast my eyes about the
Sallow colored walls- of this room- chasing away those shadows-
While I believed they were speaking to me-
Voices saying 'dream on, dream on'-
Were laughing and mocking me, so I believed-
These voices only I could hear- I could only pray I was dreaming inside-
I couldn't shut my eyes in these moments of wakefulness,
Because these shadows were robbing me of my sanity-
I could hear screaming voices and threatening intonations-
I was a lone being lost in a room amongst my own shadows-
When I realized these voices were coming from inside?
'Dream on, dream on'- I told myself in total desperation-
Knowing, however, I cannot dream within these moments of wakefulness-
I wanted to believe these shadows were alive,
So I wouldn't be alone in the midst of these loud and angry voices-
These voices only I could hear- commanding me to take my life.
'Dream on, dream on, ' I whispered hoarsely through my tears-
Be good to me, my shadows and rock me to sleep-
Carry me away to a trance where trees grow and flourish and
Where deer are running wild, locusts are singing and
I am alone amongst these melodious sounds of the summer.
It seems wherever I go and in whatever direction- these angry voices follow-
Tonight I shall lose myself amongst my shadows and close my eyes-
I shall close my eyes and pray although I am not certain if a God is listening-
I shall close my eyes and sleep-like a herd of deer chase away those who wish me harm-
And finally, with every effort- lose myself inside the world of my dreams
Where everything is quiet, without menacing voices so terrifying present and
I shall dream on, dream on, regaining my sanity-
Losing myself inside a world of eternal reverie for always...
poem by Claudia Krizay
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The Doors Are Locked
From inside of this room
I shall not exit
I have locked the doors
To the world outside.
It does not matter to me what is happening outside, because
Behind these locked doors
Is the world that I live in,
This land of my dreams that
I have fabricated for myself alone.
I recall my father recently reading me a story-
Of a woman who created a world within her dreams-
There she lived and locked herself
Inside of the doors that
Barred her from all that is real.
My father's hope was that
I would find my way out from
This place he called the land of my delusions.
This place which he calls the land of my delusions has become
My only veracity.
From the inside of this room
I shall not exit-it is here I safely converse with
The voices inside of my mind.
The doors to this room are locked, but
I can still hear my mother weeping, and
I hear my mother cry out from the midst of her tears-
What has become of my only child?
Inside of this room, I have constructed a world.
The doors are locked and
I have shut reality out-
The doors to my room are locked and
I have lost the key.
My mother is still weeping as her one and only
Has lost the key that would open the doors
To the world outside-
My mother is sobbing; the key is lost and alas-
Her only child's sanity has also been lost.
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Sacred Space
even sacred space has room that's
not invasion proof - there's liberal
confirmation raids incurring greater
anguish now occur most every day;
from where I stand the pathway's
trampled smooth by errant feet
competing in unseemly haste to
dump their woes and beat retreat
they ask of me a counsel I abide in
wisdom of the ages scribed in gothic
script declaiming options lost by
overcrowding private life; yet to
tell them where to go is not the
kind advice they'd want to hear
© 29 August 2011, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Cabbages And Beans
Like the dunny door it
simply bangs incessantly
until your patience thins
You can refuse to hear
it if you fry your brains
in oil with vapid apathy
A fear is that it might be
right and sadly true but
then again it might be wind
You’ve clearly had enough
if you accede too meekly
to its patent bullying
This cringing metaphor is
brazenness acclaimed
as an incipient authority
While all I see’s a pannier
of cabbage leaves and
salty beans
© 2 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Shopping Trip
So when are you going to go
fishing then? 115 mm of rain says
nothing’s getting done while the
anticipatory pleasure of still more
to come remains discrete
And it’s not as if it wouldn't rain
weren’t you there – although, agreed,
enjoyment couldn’t be the
same as standing out in it
soaking up your privileged share
Eight days now you have delayed
a shopping trip in case you miss
a passing shower. Claiming ‘I’m not
that obsessed about it’ doesn’t quite
ring true somehow
This pique of moribund despondency
paints your thoughts grey and makes
you live anxiously; it’s not for me to
say but you to do – at least shopping
takes the legs off such unease
© 1 February 2010, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Divine Perception Of A Broken Mind
inside the colors swirl
a dream
a nightmare
an elegy of madness
looking thru the mirror
you find but yourself
broken
inside the colors swirl
a pulse
a rhythm
an avantgarde cycle
trying to hear your mind
you hear screaming voices
divine
inside the colors swirl
a speck
a molecule
an island solitary
finding the truth of all
you perceive eternity
unreal
poem by Desmond Blaine
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What Makes Me Crazy? -Lila's Story
They found me one day
wandering the wilderness,
hearing voices.
They found me one day
saying 'I hear voices
as clearly as you hear my voice
in this room
yet no one else hears
so that makes me crazy?
The voices denigrate me.
They deny me
and what I want is for them to go away.
Yet, when they speak
they mock me
saying
'they can't hear us because we are blocking them'
and they think you are crazy- this is what makes
us strong
and you weak.'
I hear these voices
and have to drown them out
so I don't hear.
So I don't hear
So I can sleep.
What I need is someone
who believes me:
they know if someone does
their power
is gone.
Does that make me crazy?
I don't think so..
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Only Voices I hear Are On The Inside
I was born not being able to hear
Born not hearing my mother tell me I'm dear
Born never listening to anyone who spoke to me
Born not enjoying music
Born without the ability to gauge sound, unable to hear the clock tick
But since the day I was born
Since before I could talk, I could scorn
There was one thing I always did hate
And that was the thing deepest inside of me,
The thing for which I cursed fate
Worse than deafness or being unable to see
Since the day I was born I heard voices
Not when loved ones talked, but voices that weren't my choice
To hear, voices that were inside my head
Voices that nobody else heard, but I didn't know if they were lying
Because my hearing has always been dead
I'd hear screeching or dying
When none was there
Those voices they'd tell me what to do and how could I deny them?
They were, they are, and they will be the only ones who care
Because they're the only one that speak to me, I can't find the sin
That I committed to be born like this, to be born broken
I've heard more conversations than any other man
And yet I've never heard man utter a word, through my whole lifespan
The only voices I hear are on the inside
And it's the greatest torment that I hide
They'll just tell me I'm crazy, well in writing
But these voices, they accept me, they sing
These voices they know because they've talked to me
These voices are the only I've ever known the
The first voices I've ever heard
Like a mother, I've never listened to a singing bird
But I've listened to a cacophonous symphony of arguing inside my head
These voices are like the woman I did not choose, but wed
I can't separate myself from them
The only time I hear anything, it's torment to condemn
Me, it's funny that I could never speak to anyone but myself
But I guess I've never, ever, been lonely... not ever.
I
Have
Never
Been
Alone
W ho could save me from myselves?
poem by David Knox
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Inside The Room....
we are only two
inside the room
later
we shall mislead
them into
thinking that
we are only
one
we are one now
inside the
room with closed
windows
and locked doors
and they
want to hear the
sound of
the bed
or the floor
we are one now
and you tell me
that
but then
i am not asleep
like the one
at the sky
hanging like a
lone star
still feeling the
vast emptiness
of this space
between us
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Wild Red Rose
It stood in solitary silence,
marooned on an island of its own,
stranded and forsaken.
Its fate left to the hands of the gods.
The four winds
tore at its petals head,
rain shredded its green leaves,
and still it stood
in defiance of the elements,
standing worn and torn,
but still erect,
a wild red rose.
4 August 2009
poem by David Harris
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Warmish Day
‘nother warmish day,34° on the patio
irrigation underway in an Orchard too
easily dehydrated by parable to deny
deeply ingrained psychology sprays
delusionary water where precious drops
of rain would soothe sun-savaged weals
inane ideas afoot in arid contempt of
what makes the debate germane is
amply evidenced but I’ll save the trees
so save yourselves wear buoyancy
vests learn how to float between
troughs and crests of arrant treason
warming is merely a warning before
the downpour begins and a freeze
proceeds to inaugurate your pain
© 18 December 2009, I. D. Carswell
poem by Ivan Donn Carswell
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Bleeding Wrist
Another time has come
For me to cut my wrist again
You left me in the dust
Said I was cheating
But I never was
You had my only heart and
You broke it again
My wrist are bleeding because of you
You broke me down until I was nothing
More than a memory of your Raping Dream
Caught in the middle
Of a terrible nightmare
Bleeding with broken pain
Caught inside this fog of fear
Listening to your voice
Which was once soothing to me
Time and time again is but
Just now a memory
Of you and the warmth of your hands
Pain and pain
Of agony once again
Bleeding wrist of concurrent pain
Drown
Drown, drown
Drown, drown
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
And you know that I need you
So give me something I can do
But you just take and rip away, until its over
Ive been waiting for so long
Finally found out what went wrong
Listen closely and you will hear, that it is over, right now
She ties you down, down, down, down, down, down, down
Wasted!!
You made me love you
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Lie your head down thoughts consume
On a blanket in your room
Wraps into fire and comes so clear
Face head over
Drifting out, out into sea
Looking glass, cleared for me
Glancing slowly for some room
To bang a nail solidly through
Its all over cant you see
Ive given you all of me
So scratch until you dig away, all of the venom from your vein
I cant help you, cant you see, that it is over
Dont you know its over, dont you know its over
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Drown, drown, suffocating no air, underwater no air
Sacrifice my soul to you
Disappearing in thin air
song performed by by Uranium 235
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crowded Room
Across a crowded room
I first set eyes on you
My vision was impaired
Obstructed out of view
By those - faces in a crowded room
Them - bodies in a crowded room
Their - breathing in a crowded room
And their - pushing me out
Down the fire escape
In the crowded room I wont touch too much
I felt the punch of a punch
The language was enough
To send me running etc.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Multifarious Perspectives
After this wild ride on the waves of emotion and passion
I can hear my second and third thoughts again, I can see
the multifarious perspectives and angles and questions
involved, the authors use illusions to present the choices
to young readers
Choose, your life or your love, your love's favourite or
yourself, choose whether you are willing to sacrifice
yourself on behalf of your love, quietly serving behind
the scenes - and the result of these choices are enacted
for us, now I feel enriched
By these glamorous stories of valour and courage which
are emphasised in defeating attacks by demon powers -
and in deciphering the deception within the powers-that-be
trying to formulate a life-strategy, making sense of the
chaos our senses discern
In the magical world around us…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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I Am Not Afraid Of Emptiness
i may not have told you, but now i will tell it to you
three times,
girl, i am not afraid of emptiness
the one that walks upon you when you were once this huge
space like a Gothic church with doors like mountains and windows
like continents
the sound of emptiness reverberates like a tin cup
that falls on the iron rails of this room
it fills every nerve that coils upon itself and forms a hand gripping
for waterfalls
it closes the ears and rips every rational entries that your eyes
write in the pages of your journal
it encloses you like a mental jacket of that new patient
at ward 6,
it walls you in like you are a chair inside the congested kitchen
look, who likes the congestion of the spirits?
who likes the choking of the nicks of time?
who likes a light imprisoned in its own flames
burning itself upon itself like a candle consuming both of its ends?
who like the mezzanine filled with letters that you keep
containing love stories of suicide and escape?
look upon your face too crowded with your senses?
it is a forest with trees killing each other for an ounce of light
roots upon roots and leaves upon leaves this world is too crowded
with unraveling thoughts
i am not afraid of emptiness
i like my windows opening all the days of my life
i like doors without locks
stairs without rails, houses without walls and roofs
i live in open space and yes right here inside my heart
i thrive in its empty spaces without the nerves and the veins
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How Beastly the Bourgeois Is
How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species--
Presentable, eminently presentable--
shall I make you a present of him?
Isn't he handsome? Isn't he healthy? Isn't he a fine specimen?
Doesn't he look the fresh clean Englishman, outside?
Isn't it God's own image? tramping his thirty miles a day
after partridges, or a little rubber ball?
wouldn't you like to be like that, well off, and quite the
thing
Oh, but wait!
Let him meet a new emotion, let him be faced with another
man's need,
let him come home to a bit of moral difficulty, let life
face him with a new demand on his understanding
and then watch him go soggy, like a wet meringue.
Watch him turn into a mess, either a fool or a bully.
Just watch the display of him, confronted with a new
demand on his intelligence,
a new life-demand.
How beastly the bourgeois is
especially the male of the species--
Nicely groomed, like a mushroom
standing there so sleek and erect and eyeable--
and like a fungus, living on the remains of a bygone life
sucking his life out of the dead leaves of greater life
than his own.
And even so, he's stale, he's been there too long.
Touch him, and you'll find he's all gone inside
just like an old mushroom, all wormy inside, and hollow
under a smooth skin and an upright appearance.
Full of seething, wormy, hollow feelings
rather nasty--
How beastly the bourgeois is!
Standing in their thousands, these appearances, in damp
England
what a pity they can't all be kicked over
like sickening toadstools, and left to melt back, swiftly
into the soil of England.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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The Hospital
Large, heavy, wooden, daunting doors
loom before my eyes as I enter.
An empty side office, reception
with old fashioned filing cabinets,
dark now, glass shutters, closed.
Another heavy door in front of me,
this one leads to a wide, cold floored corridor.
I baulk, want to turn heel, go home.
The black and white tiling, lofty ceiling,
does nothing but repulse me.
More heavy, locked doors
with tiny, peep hole windows, all barred.
Screaming, faint screaming echoes,
ghost like, as it drifts towards me
gradually getting louder.
I reach a wide, stone staircase.
Everything's locked and bolted,
no one passes and the screaming echoes.
Asylums, those old mental hospitals,
where we still send the forgotten
to live out their lives and rot.
You wouldn't ever call this home
and the world outside rolls on
as the traffic drifts by.
poem by Ruth Walters
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