I can hear the music cats play melodies and harmony sacred notes in disarray a chorus plucked from a broken piano choir a choir of haunted souls
The enchantress of unholy salvation purifier of thought pontifical to a God of love
Mirrored minds the son of thee disappearing twisting images
My mind outcasts friends and mends broken ends
Colin Van Der Woude: I'm a 24 year old writer from Tassie Australia...was diagnosed with a mental illness at the tender age of 14...I write about thoughts and experiences, mainly at night when I'm too tired to reach for a pen. I have written poetry since the age of 15, a year after being diagnosed with Schizophrenia... used to also be an artist but my creativity in that area was "haloperidolised" and I gave up painting a year ago. Writing is now my main creative outlet.
same lives from different views a thousand a day cross this path (exaggeration, perhaps-fluke) dump the marbles over the Verrazano no need to keep the little time spent sitting still, sitting-trapped against her large buxom hips every ghost's trip
when finally it's won they pull at my arms and clinch my hand as an excited child does at first entering an amusement park
abandoned again along the skyline drive I was once so curious I was once, at one time, so eager Now my splitting head… Moves me back
Measured. Sunken. Downhill. Some one Capture this
William Cannon: I am 26 years old and have been published in a couple of minor e-zines. I've been writing for 12 years and am aware of my voice and my target audience. I am the pronunciation of a new generation. My will is to free association with all that's around me. I want unadorned realization. I want to be scared and yet readily accept my environment. I want to change the mainstream from being pleasant greeting cards to altruistic consideration, not in verse but action.
The writers of the gospels claimed to be under divination when writing; I too know not where my structure forms but am deeply compelled to develop the passages I find before me. I take my craft very seriously, I am an artist granted the privilege of communication. My medium is the English language and all its various slang; the life of mine is given purpose.
Keep on digging up brand new ideas    facing the day of hell on earth which is New Year's Eve Locked up with no chance of parole or receiving visitors    then comes the day when all emotions disappear for good. I never realised i was in hell until it was too late    but we all live in one kind of hell You can't go outside to play when it's pouring with rain    because there are more puddles than jackets.
I watched the explorer once as he was exploring    i could run fast but he could always run much faster And i screamed aloud but he could always scream louder    now i am walking down this lonely road alone.
Desperation has once again entered into my life    if i listen hard enough i can hear God laughing at me Sometimes it's as if even the poetry seems incomplete    maybe i finally have become my own worst enemy.
Why work when you can play? if you think you know the real me sorry you don't, When it isn't good but as good as it's ever going to get with 456 poems written ten times over. I'm never what you expect to see what monsters in my head giving false answers weekly, Acts of pure weakness hang around like smells from a lavatory eyes see but not always the truth.
it is possible to live without knowing it kiss the wind and those liars play their cruel games, One day every answer will show itself loud and clear for now i believe this game is real. Every one of us born with a killing instinct as mighty as the devil can make a sound, The truth hurts me like a knife deep in my soul life is a cruel game and i must find the missing link.
Rae Burton: I am 30 years old and i suffered a nervous breakdown a few years ago which lead to a few problems but it also brought a new strength to my writing as i find it easier writing down my thoughts and feelings than actually speaking. Although i am no longer considered at risk to myself and no longer have to hear the b.s my shrink threw at me the thought of suicide goes through my mind everyday but i have learned to fight it.
The enthusiasm of a sentimental kind Full-dressed in broad daylight A splendid mendacity distinguished in fashion Is a toil of a faithful companion The undertones of a half world In the midst of surroundings Where sweet idle lies flows the spring of sorrow A mere form of words within the breast of sympathy There is the toil without formality A silver plate neither rhyme nor reason Of words spoken at a shadow Peculiar to itself, there are tears for things Work and play, love and hate are one and all of the same It will be pleasant to recall this some day Diamond cuts diamond, ignorant by ignorance A fallacious debate through adversity to the stars A potential existence in empty space I know not what; it doesn't follow Everything unknown come in! Tomorrow How do I know? What does it matter? It's pleasant to play the fool sometimes, while I breathe