Disorder

This poem was inspired by my ongoing battle with anxiety, depression and panic disorder. Few people understand how truly horrible this disease can be. I always want to reach out and help

I'm not sleeping.

This world is wicked and real.

I'm not dreaming.

Because I pinched myself and bled.

Foggy in my head

Foggy in my head

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Like Grantham's gothic streets

or Gotham as the bat sleeps.

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Black out when the suns out, I still can't see.

Burnt out

wore the drugs out, and my veins didn't bleed.

Stick and poke

What do you know?

I've learned the technique.

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Wasting away on my bones I lay.

Spinning sanity on my middle finger

In a dream. 

No. It's real.

Although I can't feel.

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I'm numb and unclean.

I can't get out of my head,

or into your bed

without a surge of dopamine.

​​Nicotine.

Pill to the palm

Wash it down

and I'm calm.

Am I awake?

I pinch myself and bleed.

​

This is death when you're still alive.

Mourning the loss of a once happy life.

Your name tastes like whatever Hell is made of,

Synesthesia, Dyslexia

All the above.

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© Nicole DiCarlo 2007-2014. Any unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Nicole DiCarlo [NikDiCarlo] as the author with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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Reviews

[A. Amos]

Your world of creative writing takes your readers to different part of the world, that is form of magic and your spell:) simply amazing

[Michael G. Smith]

Deep and dark to the bowels of the soul. Reminds of the song Thorazine Shuffle by the band Savatage.