|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Stories From the Psych Ward (1 of 3)It's 2a.m. and I can hear the nurses' footsteps down the corridors,
with pools of light streaming out of their torches like car headlights in the rain.
Tonight is long and lonely, and voices wash over me in the dark.
Night checks, and rays of light pour over the sleepy shadowed forms of us,
into our eyes. Each black silhouette,
the shape of a patient in the middle of a dream.
I can feel insects crawling under my hands
but I can never dig them out.
Early morning cups of sweet black tea bring
a sense of comfort and normality to being an
involuntary psychiatric patient locked up in solitary.
Sleepless nights lying with outward eyes
at the disembodied hands pushing through the ceiling.
I curl around myself and wish I could disappear.
My hands are red and raw from trying to scratch
out the bugs that crawl underneath. I try to show
the insects to the staff, but none of the nurses believe.
One of the humanless spirits holds my spine
while the disembodied voices whisper "stay as low as you can
The WordsIt started softly at first. Little words and instances, and small betrayals that left questions sticking in her mind like needles. Words that hit her skin like stones, leaving bruises that spread and scarred and left fear in their wake, words that kept her up at night.
Who I am? What am I doing here? And who are you?
The words start tumbling faster now, and come with twisted expressions of anger, bitterness, resentment and blame. It's taking her back to her childhood; the memories of disquiet and fear and always, always the blame. It's taking her back to the fear of speaking, the fear of being touched, ever. The fear of meeting someone's eyes. There is only anger around her. An atmosphere weighed down by secrets and the blush of blood rising into skin. And inside, nothing but emptiness and the echoes of something deeper, something that will never be undone.
There is a stranger asleep beside me. Someone I no longer understand, who no longer understands me. I am afraid of their
If My Life is BeautifulThey say suicide is evil, but I always thought it was selfless that I would make myself disappear so that others could live. Theyd find relief and be free, without the threat of me hanging over their heads. My existence was what was evil it was meaningless and selfish. I was sick, and had to be cared for every waking moment. My mother once said that she felt as though I was holding the family hostage falling deeper and deeper into illness, making everyone fear leaving me alone, and fear being near me. I never told her that I was been held hostage in my own skin, trapped somewhere in the endless void of my broken mind, while the disease took over my soul like a virus. Infection, infection.
It made me sad to realize that Ive spent most of my life in therapy, living between sessions. Holding onto empty pill bottles as though medication would be my salvation. Time doesnt exist in my head. I remember almost nothing of my days, just the endless fight to
Stories From the Psych Ward (2 of 3)I'm so cold I feel it down to the bones,
sitting in the dining hall trembling
over my cup of tea. A huge Christmas
tree twinkles merrily beside me in red, blue, silver, pink and gold.
Patients huddle together outside to talk,
but I'm forbidden to join them,
trapped inside the ward on a category four.
They're all strangers to me, I've spoken to no one.
Smoking their cigarettes in faded pajamas,
looking tired and worn down,
lips twisting into smiles as the smoke
curls down into their lungs.
Nurses find me hiding from evil spirits in the cupboard.
They let me stay inside, safe until the panic stops and
the shadows disappear, give me blankets
to stay warm, until they take me by the hand and lead me out.
Two psychiatrists come to speak with me
While insects pour from my lips
And satellites speak of the death of stars
The voices scream at me
But I talk.
They want me to trust them
They want me to stay alive.
A nurse takes six canisters of my blood,
a deep frothy red. It pours out of my
600mg of sanity
in a cold clear glass
with liquid memory
and hydrogen voices
filling the space
between each breath.
As the medication
sinks into my soul
the delusions gently vanish
leaving only echoes
and the fingerprints
of madness on my skin.
The chemicals wash over me
in calming waves
until I see the world
in a softer light
under the same sky.
It's like breathing underwater;
everything is quiet
Disturbed PoetryAlexa asks me about psychosis and what it feels like.
She says listening to me scream
before the nurses put me in solitary
was like hearing beautifully disturbed poetry.
Epinephrine WhisperI bleed fear
and breathe paralysis
drug myself into sanity
and drip with the rain
every drop a thought
falling out of my soul
and tripping out of my brain.
I crawl screaming and sobbing
to the phone
and listen for hours to
the white noise of
the static dial tone.
My fingers shake
as I call
the crisis hotline
child youth mental health team.
she doesn't know
she doesn't know
she doesn't know
I don't have a
I don't have a
My therapist isn't here today.
"Sorry. Would you like to leave a
I hang up
bite my hands
until they bleed
and bang my head against the floor
again and again
I dial the number
Ask for the psychiatrist
that saw me at the hospital.
He's on break.
He'll be coming back
in an hour.
there's no time.
I'll be dead by then.
I need to talk to someone.
She doesn't tell me
to hold on,
she doesn't keep
Alexa 2We talk outside,
looking into the constellations of stars
scarring the sky through the barred windows
of the psychiatric ward.
I hold her while she cries;
her spine lies bare like a string of pearls
and her shoulder blades push gravity like angel wings
through pale, translucent arms
like the limbs of trees.
Ribs push into the ether like
delicate skeleton keys,
and her collarbone
could catch rain or tears.
Anorexia is her disease,
whispering seductively beneath.
Mermaid Bones - a beat poemTRIGGER WARNING: Sexual assault and eating disorders
Mermaid Bones - a beat poem.
I'm hiding an ocean of teeth under my scales
it's in the forbidden taste of salt on my tongue
the weight of the measuring tape,
of those numbers pushing bubbles through my blood and through my gums.
It's written on the circumference of my waist.
In the words cursing the ghost ship of my shape being plundered against my will.
It's spoken by the fish telling me that I have no right to fill my gills with oxygen
underneath a sea bed of regret laid heavy with the shape of a tail.
You are a whale they said
and they made me push my bones out to see the fish bones that they could wish on
to beach myself on the sand reaching for a reason to say "no"
I will not make sandcastles out of sandwiches, and pick at the entrails of the jellyfish noodles on my plate on the first date with puberty that said
"you will now be endowed with an oyster set with strings of pearls that hang heavy round your throat like a
InsecurityI would cry
But I won't
For when I cry
I am ugly
I would frown
But I won't
For when I frown
I am ugly
Why do I live?
For when I live
I am ugly
Influenced and minipulated
Lunatical MurkReality flows in and out-a ghostly
Mother peeking in at her feverish child
Through the walls of the dark nursery.
Dreams take over slowly, gaining
Power over the dreamer, who fears
The nightmare the truth has become.
Flights of fantasy grow longer
And landings are brief and terrifying-
Crashes down on life's trampoline runways.
Life itself is fleeting, fleeing
From the mind's own intoxicating
Tactile sensations tether breaths
Between gasps of bizarre visions
Choking loudly, louder than fact.
Darkness never comes, for light,
Albeit at the end of a tunnel,
Dances in the icy eyes of insanity.
The Needle Tears a HoleBury the needle six foot deep
Right into my cold dead skin
Push the plunger and let it release
Send in Euphoria
The track marks follow my downfall
I'm getting closer, inch by inch
Almost down to rock bottom
In this hole, full of gasoline
I try to climb back up
But, there is a catch
A match is stuck to my hip
It's the price of my next hit...
With A Single Casual BreathLight a candle
Watch the flame
watch it burn
see how it sparks to life
on the tip of the wick
Blow it with a single
play with its dance
play with its life,
unknowing that not all its
reason for existence is
you snuff it
but not completely,
reduced to a smaller flame,
maybe even to an ember,
you don't even watch it as
it fights for life
you don't affect it, to you
it's nothing, nothing to
Go on with your life, watch the flame,
control it for you fear to be
to the tip of the wick
to the fighting ember that
slowly dying but never to
fighting to live but never
to be alive
Light the candle.
Watch the flame.
Watch it burn.
No FearToo young for suicide
But too broken to soldier on
Too world-weary to claim innocence
When all hope is gone
I cannot face reality
Prefer delusions in my mind
Cannot stitch myself together
When Ive done so a thousand times
I will not look within myself
I will not look away
I will not wear these masks any longer
I do not fear today
New Life ObsessionI crave the heat of your life,
wish those liquid rubies would
dance over my cold, numb fingers
as the paling satchel
that is your skin grows
small mountains rising up from
How I delight in peeling the
flesh from your body,
your muscles, your bones
making it mine,
taking the world that belongs to me
from the dying light behind your eyes.
Ill strip your scalp of
those luscious locks of mahogany silk
and wear it myself,
masking my true identity behind
a dead lie.
Ill scoop out your eyes,
just squeeze them from your skull
like I would seeds from an orange,
to know what I look like
through those star-burst blue irises.
I will extract your heart,
your vital organs no longer in use
(reminding me of empty rooms,
stained with the memory of
and replace it with my own,
leaving you to suffer my pains
because you knew nothing,
nothing of such
throbbing within this biological cage.
Once the surging of
this new muscle gra
Post FeminismPost Feminism
Post feminism they call it,
A time to put away,
The voices of the women,
Who fought for equal pay.
How cliche it is to be,
A female freedom fighter,
All the while the unseen chains,
Grow stronger, firmer...tighter.
"Honey, sweetie, baby
Please smile while you clean,
After all this is your job,
What being "woman" means."
"Go put the kids to bed,
Then spread your legs so wide,
So I may be the burly man,
Who sticks himself inside."
Too ashamed to stand up tall,
For fear of seeming radical,
All the while our laws and rights,
Are taking a sabbatical.
"Your role is in the home,
And home is where you'll stay
Till maybe, maybe I decide,
To let you have your way."
Is this what we have come to:
A post democratic world?
Where equal right are just a dream,
For every boy and girl?
Post feminism they call it,
And post feminism will be,
The end of what we've cried to have:
Write Your BookWrite Your Book
As two clocks tick just like a heartbeat, I wonder over my life's meaning. Why I chose to fight every singel day . Why I chose to survive. Thousands of questions run through my head. Unfortunately, I can't answer them all and the answers I do have might, to regular people, seem useless and strange.
It's the simple things. The sound of music and the millions of different styles there are. The gift I have, to be able to see all the beautiful things in the world. People, their very different ways of living, ways of seeing the same thing completely different. The touch of someone you know loves you. The hug of a caring friend. Simple, yet so big and meaningful to me.
Rewrite your book so we can read the ending. You see, we wanna hear what happnes. Just like with every other interesting book we have read before yours. Please don't stop writing. Write until the pages run out.
Make it a happy ending.
Little GirlLittle girl has a busted lip
Little girl has a busted hip
Little girl has to run and scream
Run, little girl, he's gonna get mean
Little girl tries to run and hide
Little girl contemplates suicide
Little girl, she can't have no fun
Since the day little girl had to run
Little girl has a skinny waist
Little girl has a fragile face
Little girl has a broken wrist
Little girl has tiny fists
Little girl tries to kick real hard
Little girl got dealt all the wrong cards
Little girl can't breathe no more
Since little girl was thrown to the floor
Little girl can get real mad
Little girl can be real sad
Little girl never learned to fight
Little girl wasn't born with physical might
Little girl can only get real pissed
She swings at the dark but will always miss
Little girl is sick of this
Little girl wants to start some shit
Little girl's arms aren't that strong
Little girl's legs aren't that long
Little girl isn't tough like the big boys are
She can't say no if they go too far
But this is somethi
Keep in Touch!
scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More