SKЯ3WBALLED

Monday, 25 April 2022

Deaths Rattle

I got cold sweats, in full sets, but feel too hot to feel wet,

These duff pegs, are half dead, but they still keep me rolling around in bed.

My pain is immense, but every doctor’s 2 cents, seems too dense,

So I’ve got to decide, no offence, which way to fall off, this spiked fence.

I have dead teary eyes, coz I know there’ll be no happy goodbyes,

That dark fear I feel inside, was only meant for the wise.

Coz my bodies a true mess, n I've got a head bulging full of stress,

As an old teacher, once said in jest, I can only attempt, to do my worst best.

Coz I’m really at rock bottom, and every future’s been truly forgotten,

To be an EastEnders' Nick Cotton, my brains had to get half rotten.

It’s a death spiral snake’s hiss, n a chicken bone cracked wish,

A hopeful one-way ticket 2 everlasting bliss, I'll def not risk a goodbye kiss.

So many pills are taken full hand, so I wobble n slobber, here as I stand,

I definitely don’t feel like a man, coz death rattles always harder than planned.

Whisky washed back, full gack n I got more scalpels, full pack,

I plunge demon juice into my thigh's crack, n within a minute my head lies flat back.

So I slit my wrist’s cord, with a scalpel like a sword, n say a prayer 2 any listening Lord,

For all I have aboard, by law, is a single coin on my tongue to pass Styx's river, by Greek accord.

Coz this bed is my sled, and deaths rider Charon is led, pls driver take me down, full brown bread,

My eyes swirl in my head, rolling n red, n I look forward to the afterlife, pray kind dead.

But like every time, the coin’s not payment enuff, n the riverman pulls up my body, full bluff,

I’m yanked up to my bed, from Styx’s rivers guff, n wake up panting, feeling real head ruff.

For is this my life’s long fate, to never get past, or pay the toll, to enter the underworld’s last gate,

I’m full 365, dulling my soul’s ache, I cry n quake, as sit here now, smoking "bake n shake".

For if I cannot end my time, on life's painful line, I must punish u all, with tales of my life’s crime,

So let hell’s bells, chingy, chime chime, as I once again, deliver this forlorn rhyme.

And I just hope, proper no joke, that one day, I’ll finally choke n fully croak,

I hope 2 B found lying on my bed, blood soaked but with not a riverman's coin, stuck in my throat.

Monday, 4 April 2022

Alone

Alone again, with blood sweat stains,

That drug inside, makes me happy to abide.

I'm swimming in debt, def a bad bet,

Deep red vein pool, drunk as a fool.

Rolling in sweat, cluck aint over yet,

I want to be free, n happy to be me.

Smiling with lies, dry tears in my eyes,

Feeling the pain, I'm in that dark hole again.

People are around, I can hear their sounds,

But they're happy to be, happy without me.

I lie in my bed, sometimes wish I was dead,

But time it would take, this life is a fake.

So I fake that smile, it comes easy in a while,

Time spend lying, but inside I'm crying.

Coz lonely as I am, friends don't come in a can,

I got nowhere to be, nothing interesting to see.

I'm lying alone, no ring from my phone,

I wish I was I was fun, I wish for some sun.

I want happy to be, with good friends around me,

But lonely I am, and alone I stand.

Sunday, 20 March 2022

Gather

Gather me your drunk, your addicts, your psychotic and the unfaithful,

Let me wash your feet, kiss your head, and bless you for being grateful.

Grateful for the chance, of having someone to listen to you, who doesn’t judge,

Happy to be around someone, who doesn’t make you think too much.

Gather me your depressed, the sad, and those on benefits for supposedly being incapable,

Let me wash your legs, kiss your head, and bandage up those brain spots that are so painful.

Watch the pain slip away, as you realise I don’t mind that you are in mental agony,

Feel the stress drop below zero, as you realise I don’t care about your reflex antagony.

Let your mind float to a peaceful spot, as I lay my healing hands on your brain’s wheel,

Just give me a moment to scan and search, then find those awful past moments to steal.

Allow your thoughts to bend to my power, as I lay my hands on you with healing skill,

Let my fingers penetrate your mind’s zone, allowing yourself to succumb to my mind’s will.

For all is not done, and you have many hours until the sun sets on your scratch in time,

I will always be alongside you as you walk, please never think your life was some sort of evil crime.

For we all fall below our best, and we all feel alone at various times throughout our lives,

Just believe that it’s normal, and to know that you know not, is the one sign that you’re truly wise.

Monday, 7 March 2022

Recovery

Recovery, what does it mean to me?

A too far away finish line, that I never see.

Just scripts of meds, and pills before bed,

Something strong and bitter, to calm my head.

Recovery, what does it mean to you?

That look of disdain, when I fail to tie my shoe,

Or the look of disgust, when I look confused.

And paranoid chuckles behind backs, I'm not amused!

But recovery is not a finished act or line,

It's a constant struggle, with pitfalls over time.

It's just a long windy road, that never ends,

A lifelong path, full of twists and bends.

Coz recovery is a long personal daydream,

It starts and stops, a flowing backward stream.

Hard and tough, and too many days I've had enough,

My recovery needs to escape, these mental handcuffs.

Thursday, 10 February 2022

Time..

Time was always too short to do my best,

Time is too hectic, now my head is a mess.

Time is almost gone, I can only do less,

Time, I think is coming, to have that long rest.

The clock ticks quick, and my heart sweats blood darts.

When is now or the future, and when was the past?

The time I spent was wasted, I wished it hadn't passed,

Time was a cruel mistress, its hand full of crushed glass.

Because time is shorter than a piece of string,

And time is longer than a child’s bike ring.

Time goes quick when my head is in a spin,

My time on earth were scribbles, its history too thin.

Time, I thought was always going to be a blast,

Time, I now know that my best hours have passed.

Time, I try to savour, but it always flies too fast,

Time, the passing of is quick, only my reactions last.

See time is nothing but a human conception,

And time is naught but different human perceptions.

See time is the cruellest, and the most evil deception,

My time's nearly all gone, God, please can I be the exception?

This won The Creative Writing Groups bi-monthly Competition for Best Poem Feb 2022

Saturday, 29 January 2022

Mr Mentalist

Mr Mentalist please, can u let me get out of my bed,

Mr Depression has called and I want 2 go back 2 the dreams that I had.

He always calls when I fail, and makes me wish I was dead.

Please Mr Mentalist please, can you let me rest my own head.

But now I've dragged myself up I'm freaky deaking right out,

Old friend Mr Anxiety has visited n given me a hard sharp clout.

Please Mr Mentalist can u give me some pills to calm my self-doubt,

I can't find my phone or keys and I'm flipping right out.

I go from zero to a hundred in a flick of an eye,

People think I'm crazy mazy when they hear me swear n cry.

All I wanted to do was get my laptop 2 work n comply,

But now I'm a swearing freak and people look at me n sigh.

Oh please Mr Mentalist can you sort out my paranoid feelings,

I keep hearing ppl on mute just thinking I'm not worth dealing.

All I want is someone to come n give me some proper mental healing,

But I don't trust nobody to come in here n walk out without stealing.

I know the old rhyme, that Paranoia will destroy ya,

But I hear silent ppl on my screen bitching and laughing "ha ha".

I got that feeling that all the ppl r just looking at me jotting all my flaws,

I can't relax at all, n my paranoid shoulder monkey is ripping, bear claw.

So please Mr Mentalist, can you do me a massive favour,

I got the schizo twitcho ithcos, with no sign of a saviour.

Leaves r raining down with flashing lights n my mind is all misbehaviour,

I'm scared I'll do something crazy n stupid, and I need a lifesaver.

All the shrinks say I'm just screwed up and they can't even help,

I'm ashamed to be ashamed, coz I just wanna it all dealt.

I get letter after letter saying I need to do my own self-help,

If I could sort my own crazy out, I would have if I could have, but it's pure agony to self.

So please Mr Mentalist can you make people understand me,

That I ain't angry on purpose and I just want people to like me.

It's seeming more n more like this world don't have a place for me,

And for anyone to relate it's 2 late, I'm just a thorn on a big mad tree.

This is also published on the Mary Francis Trust Website for their Mental Health, Time To Talk Day > https://www.maryfrancestrust.org.uk/poem-mr-mentalist/

POEM: "MR MENTALIST"
To support #TimeToTalkDay our Creative Writing Group led by Michele has come up with a series of wonderful and heartfelt pieces discussing mental health stigma.
This fifth piece is a poem called “Mr Mentalist” written by Robert.https://t.co/Vnww2X0Uk5 pic.twitter.com/nmolTPsXGb
— Mary Frances Trust (@MaryFrancesTrst) February 3, 2022

Please share these links......

On Twitter > https://twitter.com/MaryFrancesTrst/status/1489252342943956992

or Instagram > https://www.instagram.com/maryfrancestrust/

or Facebook > https://www.facebook.com/maryfrancestrust/posts/3145716732330079

Tuesday, 25 January 2022

The Wee Little Beastie

The wee little beastie was Scottish n stout,

Had a wee dram and liked to fight n shout.

Coz that wee little beastie was a drinker no doubt,

He would blather n blither n giv his wife a good clout.

Coz his sporran an whistle was a kit so fine,

A more colourful kilt ne'r been seen til this time.

An he would wabble n wibble an sing on wine,

A more drunk wee beastie cud only exist in rhyme.

Ma old Scottish granny would walk wiv me on sand dunes,

She was my wee little gran n used to sing us wee tunes.

In da back of ma pa's car, she wud make long drives happy afternoons,

"Och Aye The Noo" and singing Scottish madness to the moon.

She would smoke like a chimney n sometimes gave me a puff,

A drag of snout so young, probably got me hooked on the stuff.

I took a very long drag and the blow out gave me a ruff cough.

N I soon got a taste for them, n I couldn't get enough..

Sunny afternoon's, n we would all go for a drive,

My sister n gran in the back, when I was only a wee five.

She used to sing a song, about an old lady, who swallowed a fly,

We didn't know why she swallowed that fly, but we hoped she didn't die.

She used to live in a high rise flat, that reached into the clouds,

Looking over the Queen of the South's ground, we could see all the crowds.

I wanted to go along to the footie, but I wasn't allowed,

But I wanted to show off my boot n shoot, n make ma pa proud.

N there was the trip up north when had to say goodbye to ma grandma,

It was a sad old time coz we would see her no more.

Aye the funeral was sad but the wake was no chore,

We told tales of lore as the men sat n chat, n lots of whisky was poured.

Now every year on Rabbie Burns night we sit and take turns,

From her book of Robbies poetry passed down, we all pretend to be Burns.

I like the "Wee Little Beastie " rhyme, coz it's a tale of concern,

And we all jibber n jabber, an drink until midnight comes.

On this day in January, we eat the traditional dish of Haggis tatties n neeps,

Och aye it's a Scottish dish alright, coz it's made on the cheap.

It's just potatoes, swede, n a sheeps stomach gut, filled with meat,

But it tastes so fine n it's a habit we Reid's like to keep.