I Dont like Wednesdays

I Don’t Like Wednesdays

Days are set in limbo
To which I will explode,
These times I’ve grown to hate
With Life falling on this date,
Clocks have all the power
Striking on doomed hours,
Wilting bodies until raw
Curling naked in a ball,
Drowning in self sweat
Flooding rooms with regret,
Please wake me up on the bell
When the days are not in hell.

Blog Article

Last week I was approached by a Entertainment Blog/website called Arcane lost, if I could write an article on mental health, as they had seen my work on my own blog.

A week later my article is live on their website check it out;

How to Fight OCD and Intrusive Thoughts Without Medication.

Free

We bleed because we need too. Release our thoughts, tensions and anxieties to the world, to resolve and find some balance.
Whose knows the answer to an unhappy species, which inhales the toxic spouting of leaders through open straws of lies.
Virus spreads but manipulation and greed stand immortal and immune to human suffering. In fact it thrives to the extent of watching the vermin argue amongst themselves, defending honours of deviants and dammed.
I find peace in knowing deep inside that my conscience is clear, my mind is open, and silence is an option to stupidity.

#depression #bipolar #writers #anxiety #suicide #ocd #flowers #virus #isolation #cry #music #lyrics #addict #photography #alcoholic #disease #disorders #weeping #corruption #money #running #celebrity #writing #poems #poetry #bookstagram #author #grunge #gothic #darkness

View this post on Instagram

We bleed because we need too. Release our thoughts, tensions and anxieties to the world, to resolve and find some balance. Whose knows the answer to an unhappy species, which inhales the toxic spouting of leaders through open straws of lies. Virus spreads but manipulation and greed stand immortal and immune to human suffering. In fact it thrives to the extent of watching the vermin argue amongst themselves, defending honours of deviants and dammed. I find peace in knowing deep inside that my conscience is clear, my mind is open, and silence is an option to stupidity. #depression #bipolar #writers #anxiety #suicide #ocd #flowers #virus #isolation #cry #music #lyrics #addict #photography #alcoholic #disease #disorders #weeping #corruption #money #running #celebrity #writing #poems #poetry #bookstagram #author #grunge #gothic #darkness

A post shared by Chris Chant (@poetry.encryption.mind) on

For no man

When’s there’s no immediate danger
Worry people worry about time,
Haunted by the past and future
By a spectre of the present,
In the now, time doesn’t exist
Until you ask its whereabouts
And trace its movements,
Once spotted it’s hidden
Amongst the angst and worry,
And then just like that it’s gone,

Is half a second
Worth the fret of not living,
To die waiting
For the next half second
To be fruitful,
Until finally it mounts up
To a lifetime of looking back,
Regrets,
And just death to look forward to.

The Poet

These words are my own
Unless you want to use them,
Change the order, add some,
Take others away, I dont care
But no swear words,
Theres no need for obscenity
To show your emotions,
Especially when its left on display
In black and white.
Cry with them as I do
Plead, beg and be stubborn
As they bring your story
To life,
Others we see so many interpretations
Written Between the lines.
Its truly amazing,
Scatter the letters
Use your ideas
Fill your scrap book
With joy, hope and tears,
But for now,
At this moment in time
For this forever verse
These words are mine.

A Touch of Remorse

It was dark
And I was alone,
Think and repent they said,
Who do they think they are
Demanding,
A trait devoid of understanding.
Have they ever been shut away
Like this before
with no Windows?
I thought not.
I haven’t until now,
I’ve known people who have,
And how.
Anyway I found nothing,
Inside myself, nothing.
Only a thought
And a question.
Why does persecution
Fall on the wrong people?
The thought was about my mum.
See I’m no harm to anyone.
Tell the truth or live
It doesn’t matter
I’m lost you see,
Shut the door
Throw away the key.

Toleration

Toleration

‘Not more words from prophet of doom
Where does this soul find the room?’
-‘Its true I write the bad I’ve felt
Dark places I’ve been, edges I’ve knelt
-‘Inside their head those words of pain
What do they ever hope to gain?’
-‘An outlet I use, a voice to spread
Of all the things I wished I said’
-‘I bet they always need help and reliance
Bringing people down with their awkward silence’
-‘I feel the tensions, sense the sound
Its harder sometimes when I’m around’
-We’ve all had issue’s, we just don’t tell
Why do they have to sulk and dwell’
-‘I’m affected worse it’s my mind you see
Stick around I’m actually quite funny’
-‘Truth is I don’t understand or relate
Surely writing this will seal their fate’
-‘I want to feel joy and that’s the key
Depressions easy to feel but harder to see’
-‘Just carry on, life’s way too short
We all suffer, just don’t give it a thought’
-‘I suffer alone, head in my hand
The reasons why I don’t understand’

Flight

Flight

Escape not from this room
You knew this
You knew impending doom
Not apparent bliss.

No chance to escape
Fight or flee
Your autonomy raped
It’s not different, you see

I will squeeze for life
Control the blood
Distract the mind
Search for love

Pain rather than avoidance
Hope better than death
Control is in the thought
Fear is in the breath

Fallen

When sat alone
With the weight of blood
Panicked in solitude
Restricted from external wounds
Do we cry,
Or lie down upon the sympathy?
Voicing the same tale
To heighten ears
Imagining on empathic fears
Which soon dies
From curious eyes.
The scars of eternity sparks interest
To unknown generations
Seeking if the whispers are truth.
They are, if not worse,
Bones were cracked
Shock crushed the breath,
The story revealed forever wrapped in light
Never disclosing
How close we were to death.

Amputated

A finger cut loose
Separated from the Dominant hand
Leaving others broken and fractured,
A poorly sight of Deformed appendages left limp and tragic,
Is this fate?
Trying to manipulate my train of thinking
A threat carried out
To stop the written hand
Producing my verses of alternatives
Converting black into grey,
Am I Getting to close
To warrant a mystical warning,
A pointed finger cursing mine
Forcing me to throw down tools
Over The edge of damnation,
What next my eyes, My mind,
Should I stop banging my words
Into an order of verse
That wakes the sleeping baby of chaos.

No these thoughts exist Because we exist,
I will take my Sacrifice
And keep bringing forth
The fantasy of my world
Blending thinly into theirs,
By believing is creating,
Giving thoughts a substance
To make nightmares whole,
The warning I will heed
But it proves that I would bleed
To thrive in the unknown,
Unlock doors to interpretations
And bring some kind of order
To the underlying turmoil.