Depression · Free Verse · Mental Health

Judas | Poems that Suck

I'm tired --
tired of being tired,
of feeling like my body
is held down by anchors sunk
to unfathomable depths, leaving me
struggling for air, for energy.

I'm tired --
of waking up to feel
like going back to sleep,
where my body is whole and 
full of life.

I'm tired --
of running interference
with exhaustion, and mitigating
it with so much coffee that my 
piss stinks of it.

I'm fucking tired --
the spirit is willing, is 
full of fire and passion, 
but this Judas of a body is weak.
Hope · Mental Health · Writing

Nostalgia | Poems that Suck

 There's one addiction I have
   and that's living in the

 I like to go back in time and
    replay scenes in my head;
      good ones, bad ones,
        they're all the same.

 I like to relive them in great detail,
   slowing down time to capture the specifics
    I missed in those moments the first
                              time around.

 I imagine that they are photographs,
    and imagine the condition they'd be in.
      Some edges worn from constant replay,
        other sticky with the aftermath of love making,
          still others, ripped and pasted together again, their
                             edges burnt in fury. 
Depression · Free Verse · Mental Health

A Pool Skimmer | Poems that Suck

Battles for life happen
  in the desert;

My desert was a 
 shitty community pool,
   brimming with gallons of
    toddler piss
         fart bubbles.

I'd hopped the fence at 4 a.m. 
       fearful I'd skewer my cunt
         and be stuck like that
                 under the humid

I'd jumped in with my, 
   His clothes on, 
     like some pathetic
            Even my Chuck Taylor's 
               which made me feel so
                    Rock 'n Roll.

I could hear my breathing, 
   my heartbeat;
        Thump, thump.
             Thump,  thump. 

And I sent up a prayer to
     God was listening. 
       Even if it was 
         nothing at all. 

Just let me die, 
  in this piss 
     filled pool 
       and in the morning some
         poor slob can fish me out.
            Long handled skimmer;
               and me too dead to care about
                    the burden.