Cucumbers

They say we are made up of water

So we’re cucumbers with anxiety they say our hearts are organs

But mine’s filled with emotions, despite

Being broken and punched and kicked

Really we’re just ants on leaves

Despite getting our oxygen from trees

Running to Death

I could feel the wind brushing against my cheeks

As I ran full power towards the train railway crossing

When I reached the crossing my insanity took hold

And I walked onto the tracks and sat down

I waited until I heard the sirens and the gates closing

Then I started to panic but stayed sat there

The train stopped it, it had seen me

My plan had failed, as usual

A woman helped me up and over the barrier

And the next poem will tell the rest

But I was sectioned by the police.

Reckless

Reckless drinking

Reckless spending

Reckless sex

Reckless pretending

Pretending I’m normal

Pretending I’m fine

When in fact

I’m dying inside.

Walking Through Treackle

It’s like your stepping in treacle

Your foot drowns in the sticky substance

Gradually your body is pulled under

So slowly, nit you cannot fight back

So you are tortured by your own body

As it shuts down and gives up

Walking through treacle is depression

Being drowned slowly, painfully.

One Bottle

One bottle or two

One spliff or three

Who knows when

All you do is sleep

Eat junk food and cry

Living in a squalor

Not cleaning yourself

Or the surroundings

One bottle will do

But maybe two.

Hit

I need a hit

Alcohol or drugs

Not illegal ones

Prescriptions ones

Diazepam has become

My best friend

And worst enemy

I need a substitute

For the benzo or the booze

All I can find in my mind

Is agonising anxiety

And dark depression

I need something to keep me

Numb and sedated.

Blood On Tiles

Blood on tiles
Oil on canvas
Water on skin
Snow on grass
Skin on skin
I'll let you in
The blade leaves scars
Of times so hard
But my mind hurts
Forever aches.