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Perception

I watch, seeing you sitting there

looking so saddened and somber.

Unkept beard, thinning grey hair

couldn’t appear any more calmer.

Couldn’t help myself but to think

“what’s wrong in that head?”

Thinking, “could I buy you a drink?”

“Quite possibly a loaf of bread?”

Children walk on the other side

as they cautiously, yet hastily skip by.

While managing your dignity and pride

you don’t waste life wondering why.

Though, I now wish that my realization

of inaccuracy had come much sooner…

because after all this time,

I’ve come to find…

..you were just waiting for an Uber.

 
22 Comments

Posted by on January 23, 2018 in poetry, writing

 

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Where all the extra thoughts go

I observe all things around me

I analyze and write what I see,

extra trimmings which remain unwritten

freely spill over into a dream.

They all seem to come together

to create something shockingly new,

My mind never achieves conception

of what is made up and what is true.

In this world I’ve come to know

often the only one I can honestly trust,

takes the leftover thoughts of my day

and transforms them into lust.

This is where I can truly be me

no pressure of love and fear,

for the second my eyes do open

the evidence will disappear.

The sadness will come when I awake

when I realize for now it is gone,

I just need to try and remind myself

awaiting tonights advent won’t be long…

 

 

 
36 Comments

Posted by on January 20, 2018 in My day, poetry, writing

 

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Case Closed

I heard someone once say…

you can’t put your arms around a memory.

I’ll never let that get the better of me,

for in a dream you walk the streets,

spray can in your hand

asking the world if it were “FREE?”

 

Desolate streets, hours past midnight

feeling invincible with no one in sight,

Tagging “SK” on concrete walls of buildings

Just laughing throughout the night

 

Carefully, methodically constructing rhymes

written to the melody, sounds and beat,

made by the tones of your Nike, Air Force Ones

as they rhythmically pound on the street.

 

A wildly ridiculous contagious laugh

in which everyone around you knows,

a dark hole exists in everyones soul now

love we all have for you, positively shows.

 

Missing that creativity consuming my life

all the more and more each day,

every time I come up with a new beat to share

well… there’s not much more I can say.

 

I will forever carry the memories with me

remembering the loyalty and love you’ve shown,

with your infamous Woozy Goose tattoo on my leg

I will never walk these desolate streets alone…

 

Miss you Casey, Aka: Case Closed, Woozy Goose

 

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© 2018 Joseph Emerson @ WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 
35 Comments

Posted by on January 16, 2018 in Family, poetry, writing

 

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Sleep paralysis

Mystifying and cryptic. 

Gloomy and apocalyptic….

 

This is how I envision

the theater in my head,

Feelings of the colors

black, drab and dark red.

Barbed wire around my lungs,

stabbing, restricting as I breath.

Fluid inside my heart turning black,

Boiling vigorously begins to seethe.

 

Dark dressed figures are filing in,

organizing a vast congregation.

Eerily anxiously waiting for,

a humiliating public castration.

Never given an adequate chance

to stand or walk tall,

Beaten down relentlessly

they forced me to crawl.

Similar to being stuck in a dream,

trying to fight but feeling too weak.

Opened my mouth attempting to scream,

only to find I can’t even speak.

 

Escaping to a hot desert scene

where I’m lying on the ground,

longing for a sudden death

as the vultures circle ’round.

I finally awake

as my eyes spring open,

Overwhelming panic

as my body lies frozen.

Cannot move or think

wanting to yell,

ultimate fear comes to life

as I’m stuck in this hell…

 

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 
38 Comments

Posted by on January 14, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing

 

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Up the dosage 💊

Up the dosage,

make it more numb.

Make it so I,

can ghastly overcome.

💊

As my subconscious waves it’s deadly sword

on a collision course toward my mind.

My conscious presence jumps up and down

and hails, airily cheering from the side-line.

🗡

Taunting, screaming, mocking and chanting

I wish to act as if I don’t have any care,

But given the chance to take em’ all on,

Without question… as it is all too much to bear.

🤼‍♂️

As if my mind were not of my own

“Do as we say, and not as you wish”,

Like I was given this body and mind,

only to be trapped in a bowl like a fish

🐟

So, up the dosage

I will soon overcome,

the only way I know how,

by being comfortably numb.

💊

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 
15 Comments

Posted by on January 12, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing

 

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Just a year ago…

If you had seen me

Just a year ago,

The boy inside

you wouldn’t know.

The foolish ways

I would act and dress,

Only to “make” you

feel so impressed.

The games I played

the lies I spoke,

So full of shit

I began to choke.

It all began to spill

onto the floor,

I just couldn’t seem

to lie anymore.

I had failed to hide

the hate in me,

the shaking had shown

through anxiety.

My cover was blown

the jig was up,

I was now forced

to say it’s enough.

The tears would start

I wouldn’t know why,

Even when I was mad

I’d start to cry.

The feelings were mixed

the reasons were screwed,

and most would’ve agreed

my views were so skewed.

Fantasies of death

raced through my head,

the smile would grow

as I envisioned me dead.

The voice in my mind

would plead and beg,

I had even playfully jabbed

a knife in my leg.

Just to see

how it would feel,

an orgasmic feeling

of sharpened cold steel.

Pathetically made a list

of the family I’d miss,

as I traced with that blade

the veins in my wrist.

 

So….

If you had seen me

Just a year ago,

The boy inside

You wouldn’t, have wanted to know..

 

 

© 2018 Joseph Emerson WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 

 
15 Comments

Posted by on January 2, 2018 in Mental Health, poetry, writing

 

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Idle hands = Death

Callused hands

from a blistered mind,

in overdrive

working overtime.

So naturally

it comes to me,

like a cruising ship

takes to the sea.

But when it drifts

back to the shore,

brings my biggest fear

of being bored.

Creating images

inside my head,

until the day

I wake up dead.

For if I don’t

my brain gets weak,

looking for comfort

in the drugs I seek.

My sober mind

needs stimulation,

as to be kept from

dark isolation.

So in conclusion

or in summary,

I’ll work my hands

until they bleed…

 

 

© 2017 Joseph Emerson WhatsInsideAMadmansHat.com

 
29 Comments

Posted by on December 16, 2017 in Mental Health, poetry, writing

 

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