The Schizophrenic And The Sane Voice - LetterPile - Writing and Literature
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The Schizophrenic And The Sane Voice

This is a elegy I have created, describing the horrors of domestic violence

A Poem Of Life

Wicked thoughts in a wicked mind, seems hellbent to be, the perfect design.
Only the most disturbed of dispositions, will be victorious in my visions.

My lonely battle cry rings loud, but only attracts the most destructive of crowd.
The voice in my head I know not to be true, makes everything I thought I knew, very hard to sit through, the perfect sadness that life brew.

I vow myself to be an honest man, yet crushed in under a lifespan. Lies are deceiving, and my weakness was believing, that nothing could ever hurt me, only to find my bleeding heart in chaos and debris. You see, nothing is as it seems.

Eight days straight in a slow dead state, I guess the state of my mind was weak, since my voice I cannot speak, convincingly told me so.
I wanted to leave, I wanted to go. In freedom I had plenty of space to grow, just not without my inner voice though.

Faking a smile on the go, full of dead weight just for show, like the perfect sculptor, the great Michelangelo.
Equipped with a pathetic self, a person I don't wish to know, I try to stay afloat, trying not pointing a knife to my throat.

Self-harm has its own charm, and I have a lot of feelings to disarm. But I try to remain calm, try to think of my mom. The only safe place, even when I slice my palm, chase the blood from my hand running warm, the love wont perish. The thought of this, I deeply cherish.

When madness strikes my mind, every kind memory gets left behind. I often want to rewind what my mind has designed, but I stay confined, with my good and my bad, so evenly intertwined.

My dad was a genuine gentleman, that's why it surprised me, the beating which only kept repeating, until I started bleeding, like a bully from class, who nastily gashed that would easily have the last gash surpassed.
My dad was a gentleman, and that's were it all began.

Loneliness -a lifelong devastation, in which I have been in forceful participation. Isolation became my proudest creation, the only citizen in a grand nation of sorrow, the imagination of a voice, the interpretation of today, resets tomorrow.

I take no pride in pushing love away, so many times have my feelings been set up for abusive display.
Taught myself to show nothing but hate. When love is coming, It's coming face to face trying to desecrate.

But I patiently await, trying not to overrate the welcome, to not get crushed under the weight, but I feel dumb. As always I completely succumb, realizing that's my fate. Betrayed myself, I hate what I have become, I only find comfort in my blade. Only when I cut myself, I'm not afraid.

Its late, the time is way past day, the night talks to me, I hate what it has to say. I try to force the tears away, but I can't win, the voice crawls under my skin, awaken from within.
It has begun, it cannot be undone.

The screams in my head I cannot bear, winning the negotiation of peace is rare.
Often it ends in my own despair, unaware of my own demise, in my head all the good guys dies.

Last night, the devil spoke to me, told me that I had a low life expectancy, an unholy will to die for all to see. At least one thing in which me and the broken angel did not disagree.
I wanted to die violently, that I could guarantee.

Was looking passively at all the walking innocence, they had no idea, not so much as a single defense.
I was about to do a heinous act at their expense.
I took a deep breath, let the slaughtering of innocence commence.

I woke up, looking upon a ceiling. I started to scream and cry, this feeling of wanting death was just another lie.
I wanted no innocent to die, but my voice really wanted me to try.

Whimpering in my mothers lap, I wanted it all to go away within a snap.

My mom always told me to think of only good, and nothing bad.
Told me to remember, that is was all because of dad.
He left me when I was very young, he helped me forget that I could be strong.

Dad was wrong, it was HIM that did not belong.
He was choking my family, striking fatal calamity.
Only supporting financially, verbally he created insanity.

My brother died, right before my dad went away.
Now he is in a iron cage to stay, victim of time and decay.
"Here son, sit still, take this pill. Until you don't feel the need to kill."

I was Drugged and dazed, but evil hugged and raised me,
like a unpaid money shark, drenched in dark crazed remarks.
I wished for non to be wrenched, but found myself utterly entrenched in sadness, and with only the wicked left to impress.

My first crush was a sweet girl. A diamond, a pearl. She did not know of my sins. To her, I was a prince. Charming as ever, keep lying to her was a hard endeavour.
But I was hard to please, a pure disease, breaking hearts was my expertise.

Wrecking starts when love departs. I know this all too well.
My fragile shell broke in equal parts.
There is only two to me, we both to that agree.
Me and my voice, so whole heartily puncturing my main artery.

We stopped love from spreading, deflected a wedding. Being alone, the thought is dreading, but I cannot hurt again.
When it is expected of me to hurt, I will convert to hate, then I no longer talk to the one I rejected.

I sat with my favorite toy, a teddy bear. Filled with joy I nurtured it, for a moment not feeling fear.
Sick thought re-installed. My dad called me. He was drunk, lazy in his voice.
I had no choice.

My dad was sad and angry, he really wanted to spank me. "Thank me son, I made a man of you. If you only knew how few threw a jab at you because of me, you would see things differently. But apparently you can't differentiate between love and hate so easily.

"What kind of a man are you? slitting your wrist, just sitting there. That's not fair, I took care of you all life,
and instead of thanking me, you use a knife? I cannot see you, cannot love you son. It's done, you've won. Do me a favor and next time use a gun."

I felt like I was rotten, forgotten and unloved. Shoved away, flooded with more guilt by the day. Life was impossible to sit through. Being an abused kid from early youth, nothing left to rebuild. Abuse will place a marker on you.

My lungs were filled with rust, screaming was in vein, I had to adjust, but my inner voice was impossible to contain.
"YOU FILL ME WITH DISGUST! You are nothing but a gust of disgusting dust. You feel nothing for you. Its true, I really hope you see a suicide through."

My arms were tied. I tried so hard to hide the divide inside my head. And although my inner voice went past unsaid, still I was fed a doze of anti-psychotic, while tied to my bed.

With only a thin coat of love for myself to wear, I still was perceived as a neurotic acting robotic, and to keep sane I voiced my deep despair, only to be found a distracting pain, so I was put to sleep again.

My stay was very inhumane, I felt degraded. At least the pain had faded. I was numb, and my unawareness had increased.
I no longer thought of the deceased brother I so dearly missed.

I pumped my fist, wiggled my wrist. "do I still exist?"
I felt dead, but I was not fully yet. Remembering now would be a fully loaded Russian roulette. Securely unloaded, I found myself on a bench, a thick smell of hypnotics, a very memorable stench.

I needed to get away, I started running filled with dismay.
"you need to rebuild the killed part of me". LEAVE ME BE!
I ran towards my home with no light to see, but ended up in a state of roam. Finally I was free.



This content is accurate and true to the best of the author’s knowledge and is not meant to substitute for formal and individualized advice from a qualified professional.

© 2019 Peter Simonsen

Comments

Suzie from Carson City on June 18, 2019:

Peter....Enjoyed this "Poem of Life," very much. In fact, It touched me profoundly enough to follow you and add a fan mail! Eager to see more of your work. Peace, Paula

John Hansen from Queensland Australia on June 18, 2019:

Wow! Peter what a powerful and confronting piece of poetry for your first here at HubPages. Great internal rhyme as well. Going on this theme you may like to read another poem of mine “What I Did at the End of the Street.”