Falling star
 

I saw despair in a black bag
Felt it,touched it and threw it away
But once again it stood beside me
Crying out for a taste of anguish

I laughed,it was a joke,a fantasy
Then i looked down on the floor
The room shook and the fragments sharp
Tumbled on to the once golden floor

I bent down to pick up the pieces
And like a rusty needle they went through me
The earth went dark,oh so dark
I tried to smile,a vacant pit.

Laughter,what is laughter?
I cannot tell,it avoids me
There is just the darkness
And the broken fragments on the floor


(A poem written when i was 15 in 1972)

((((((((((((((FireMonkey)))))))))))))))
 

Hi FireMonkey :)

I'm happy to see you back!!!!!

Here's my contribution to giving you something to smile about:
http://www.health-boundaries-bite.co...Email2006.html

As an aside, have you tried taking methylcobalamin? I read all the things that you've noted as being wrong with you, and a lot of them can be related to low B12. Methylcobalamin is the active form of B12.

If you haven't tried it, get some and see how it works. Keep a few notes, daily notes if possible.

It's not like an aspirin or an antidepressant, it's not an overnite fix. But in a few days you will feel a difference (if you are low on B12 to start, which may be the case) and in a few weeks the improvement should be quite noticeable.

((((((((((((((FireMonkey)))))))))))))))))

Hi Firemonkey...
 

That is quite a poem. It obviously has very deep roots in a feeling you have personally experienced. I hope it served it's purpose by dragging those feelings into the healing light of day.

Wishing you all the very best...
Idealist

hi firemonkey,

I liked your poem. It reminds me of the poetry I wrote when I was about the same age-- although that would have been 1992. My mother threw all poems, artwork, clothing, jewelry, anything that meant anything to me at that time away while I was in the hospital for the first time when I was 16. I remember a few lines from a couple of poems. But there were so many! I had several folders, and notebooks, miscellaneous pieces of scrap paper shoved in between. whatever i could find to write on while i was inspired. Wish i had those. but i have more now. thanks for reminding me of myself at that time.