Rorschach

A revisit to some of my older poetry, which involve dealing with mental illness, and the lack of freedom and rights that come with it.

Break through the cages of these shameless beings

Bleed razorblades under the hospital's halls of grey

Create my own form of humility, purposelessly 

Virtue tortures my forced hatred, I remain patient, for the doctors to taste their medicine, abandonment

 

Abortion of anything, shitting out memories, the remains of everything plain to my eyes

Pain in disguise, look alive and realize the monsters in the men defend my false friends

I’m undependable, independent of their recollection, flawed in their perfection

In awe, a correctional ethereal unmentionable detrimental mental tension

 

 

Trapped in this metal prison detention, I live a liar, to act like a hired gun, fire gone

The blood that runs through my veins still reins unloved, to them I’m a demon spawn

Stained in the silenced bomb on the faded colours that cover us, brotherless

I couldn’t care if they repair me, I’m rusted in this medication rain, steel redemption, cracking determination

 

The strain of humanity cut out of me, starting to see red, go lie in bed, half dead

After all the suffering I bleed, the feelings course through my head, touch the disease

Infested sins of the person I once was who has been long since gone, I’ve been undone

Feel the needles like a pincushion rushing through my flesh, seal my heart shut

 

I’m not a part of the thread, erased from the fabric, a fabricated person, made for their hatred

Created from brilliance without forgiveness the torment will never end, the stitching committing murder

Our situation blurs the lines of reality, taste the sour cowardice, fear the hatred’s empowerment

Captivated by the depravity, smell my naivety, now you’re cheating me, slowly eating me

Suffering depleting me, consuming my being, fleeting beatings, missing meat pieces of me, my strength is leaving me

Crushed under the gravity, I feel the weight of my anger, the sorrow and anguish, the pain a cycle mismanaged

The poison dyes my heart a darker red, crimson sinning, my skin is bright pink and I’ve lost 65 pounds, justified proud, they order another round, I crumble, shaken, broken on the ground

Hopelessness doesn’t sound like silence, it sounds like shouts, it sounds like hatred in their voices, the victims choiceless devoid of their words

 

Hopelessness sounds like a loudness you can never be heard over, given the cold shoulder, crushed like a clover under the brink of the winter, left splintered, unwitnessed, captive, captivated

Hatred sounds like a rape that will never rub off your flesh, it sounds like crushed spirits, it reads like righteous justice, it bleeds a sort of hushness

Silence in its robustness, suffocated in the cushioning, empty emotionally, forced open, breed brokenness, birth copiously feelings of inactivity

I sound like a broken record, wasted effort, ineffective, to be corrected, scatterbrained, blown away reason to live I need collected, as the breeze takes my easy life, and my freedom, I have no reason

 

 

 

My hope retreating, cleave in the demons with their dirty deeds and semen

Follow freedom hopelessly excused, the monster’s amused by the slow death, I choke on my breath

Dream of a life where I was never abused, I’m no Macbeth, I am no king, I am a thing of failure

I still have lost so much, and have so much to lose to these jailors, I was tailored for cadence, irradiated by God’s radiance, I’m cold in my bone breaking stasis, fucked by my creator

 

To push through this ending and face it all anew, feel the hue of the electrical lighting, I stumble under the artificial thunder and lightning

Fighting the demons inside the prison into twilight, politely acting reactionary, I feel heavy, too much pain to carry

Breath my words and scream my meaning, my rights, my sight until I don’t feel right, lost my senses, I feel demented

Push back against this disaster this blight or else I’ll lose the fight, the fever, the passion, repentance never comes for those who have never done something wrong

 

Clashing against the hospital door, waiting for days on the floor

Sleep on that floor, eat on that floor, weep on that floor, stuck on that floor, fucked in my cell

Trapped in my hell, cleaned on the floor, bleed on that floor until the floor is golden, and the door out is holy, I worship them only

Soulless, I feel possessed by the oppression, lesson learned now I feel lessened, under the pressure, blessed with the question why, temperate as I slowly die excrement like myself are denied solace, unholy

 

Under the guise of the artificial sunlight, I’m bone white, but red like blood, a pink mixture of blood and semen, even playing field, but I’m buried below the dirt

It hurts to be inhuman, not too long ago I was a high school student who wrote his own music

I cannot do it anymore, I cannot be myself, I’m dead like my mental health, I didn’t ask for help, but I was given hell

When I leave I will no longer be Robbie, I will be Jack, when I come back I will not be back, Jack will come into existence, 

Robbie will be thrown away, as a pittance, there will be no witnesses, no one survives these sicknesses, painted in their wickedness, I am a white canvas again, no longer coloured by that madness, and eternally sadistic sadness

But the sicknesses are never gone, and I may live on, but Robbie was but a pawn, and I am a king, and he needed to die, for the sicknesses sins, from the pain his memories bring, from the song that still sings, in that hospital wing

I will not be him, I will not be broken all over again, for the sicknesses inside me, that madness will not define me, I will confide in, my heart before my open-minded broken brain, I will never again be stained by those colours, clouded memories of sicknesses are all that remains, a depiction of my captured brothers in chains

Innate, inadequate, unneeded, insane, when you've lost all your freedom, only your demons, only your rorschach, only your psychopath, only your sicknesses remain

Author's Note

You lose part of your humanity when you become mentally ill. Not because you yourself are now less human, but because you become that way in the eyes of others.



I very seldom reply to reviews, but I promise I read EVERY single one. I look forward to my next review because it helps me learn. Even if it's just one word, I promise, I will be ecstatic to have the chance to hear what you have to say. Whenever you write something about my poems, or the themes of my poems, or criticize me it is not in vain. I will listen, learn and be thankful.

Reviews

[Jackie]

do you read a lot, read encyclapedias, dictionaries...etc just curious.. I really truly envy your wordplay and wide array of words.. honestly i been struggling for awhile on and off and searching for any advice you may have to hopefully remain open as i struggle quite a bit. a major perfectionist. not much of a reader but im sure it would prob help whole lot if i was

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I suggest reading as much as possible. Get apps that give you a word of the day, and open up the dictionary to a random page every now and then, and see if you can make a poem with several of the words on the page. In order to increase your vocabulary, I suggest looking up the definitions of words, and always try to find something new that you haven't heard before.

[Chryiss]

"Hopelessness doesn’t sound like silence, it sounds like shouts, it sounds like hatred in their voices, the victims choiceless devoid of their words" This line stood out the most to me. I really liked how you described what hopelessness is, that it's not silence but shouting.
It's remarkable how you can describe all the torrent of emotions that mental illness can bring in so many different images and sensations that if not read slowly while chewing on the words, a reader could easily get lost or overpowered and thusly turned away from all the visceral cries and raw sentiments. Perhaps this is a desired effect, but I can imagine from other poems seen and their responses, that the length and bold, relentless anguish might be deterrents for readers. If you wish to best express your sentiments most impact fully, concision of like-feelings or descriptions to deliver the clearest message could be looked at. However, if drowning in a spiral with no finality is the goal, then by all means this poem can remain the same. With all that said..I hope more could read this for the hopelessness and humanity lost described, but I doubt that without condensing the words to deliver a greater punch and clarity, many people would--this poem has so much potential to draw readers in, but.. ever thinking of all the perspectives, it's again up to the writer for the messages conveyed, and whether or not the length and descriptions deter, you convey all the sentiment in wonderful expressiveness and language.

[R.J Calzonetti (SinisterPotatoe)]

I was looking for people to get lost in the words, and understand the insanity of going through this state of mind, with the hope that the feelings of being in that situation could be shared more sharply. I agree with everything you've said, and it's a hard poem to get into because of the way it's been made. Like many of my poems, it is more meal than mouthful, and most people want a taste of everything, rather than fill up on one ingredient. Still, for those who stay and read till the end like yourself, I hope you can feel how I remember it feeling when this all happened. I have farther to go on this path to clearer more concise poetry, but I assure you, I will try my best, and continue to write until I can give you a more balanced lunch/breakfast/dinner.

[Chryiss]

A balanced meal, haha~ I like that analogy. You are most definitely right, and I also have that same problem of conciseness when I get caught up in imagery and language. I did retain that feeling conveyed by the poem, and I was actually rather struck by the deep agony mental illness brings. That's why I hoped more could read because it sheds an important light on the suffering which those not familiar might add to out of their ignorant empathy. Perhaps it's simply because we cannot understand or relate to which we have not felt or experienced in some way...but that's why expressive in forms like poetry to convey such feelings are so important, so thank you for sharing and enlightening us--it certainly has changed my outlook on mental illness in terms of how much people suffer...

[Chryiss]

*expressiveness

[Ghost writer]

So I really liked this one a lot and wanted to save it, but I chose not too cause there were a couple parts that seemed unnecessarily gross and detailed, I really get being trapped in your head though, not wanting to come out with what you think because even to you it seems strange and you know how people don't like it when you're different. I really like the part when you're talking about being on the floor but again in just paints a very graphic picture which I personally don't really want to see, I see how you might have been trying to do harsh reality though, I'd still suggest toning it down a bit. Because the why I see it is as more threatening than truthful and I think when a lot of people get to that they would just stop reading do to discomfort.
But other than that I think it was very good and you described it very well, hope this was helpful.

[Pete]

this just bowled me over. your ability to see beyond and through the superficial is phenomenal. your wording, imagery and descriptions are so dark, real and stark that i had to swallow hard. my goodness this is powerful. you describe it all so well - perhaps too well, scaring me silly. people's and the system's inability to deal and relate. so deep and honest on your part. bravo. just wow ... :)

[Davidgeo]

Word economy... look into it.

[wordman]

sounds like a despicable place to be