Analysis of DEPRESSION



My head is empty yet these thoughts come rushing in like the stream of a river. bare are my feet the fruits that I find on the trees I eat.
I will find myself tucked away in a bed made of palm leaves. draining the poison from my body that has turned purple and numb and is slowly becoming undone.

The drops of rain are calling out my name
The monsters that I have become want to chase me away. I refuse to run even though at this moment I care to die. find me a place to hide.

Depression sets in
I am leaving this place that has left me
There is nothing here except the u.f.o. hanging in the air.

Is it my imagination
are we really alone?
who cares let us rejoice in our fears
The truth is senseless

My days are numbered
I will soon turn to dust
is there love inside of this black heart or only lust?
It is early in the morning.I wake up by myself, I look at the other side of my bed to see the words that were previously said.

I feel like a dead man
these stains left an awful mess
my sins I would rather not confess
I do not like to stand naked in front of the mirror
I am afraid that I will laugh at my scars


Scheme XA XX XXX AXXX XBBX XCCXX
Poetic Form Etheree  (25%)
Metre 111101111100101101011110111110111 111110100111111001011101111001011001001 0111110111 010111011111011011110111101111110111 01010 1110111111 11101010110001 1110010 111001 1111010101 01110 11110 111111 1110111111101 11100011111111010111111011010001 111011 1111101 111110101 11111110011010 11011111111
Closest metre Iambic heptameter
Characters 1,117
Words 247
Sentences 16
Stanzas 6
Stanza Lengths 2, 2, 3, 4, 4, 5
Lines Amount 20
Letters per line (avg) 43
Words per line (avg) 12
Letters per stanza (avg) 144
Words per stanza (avg) 39

About this poem

MENTAL ILLNESS

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Written on October 31, 1989

Submitted by Oakley on January 27, 2023

Modified on March 05, 2023

1:14 min read
5

mad hippie poet

I have been writing for 40 years my poetry is about life,death love,and redemption. after having two near death expiercences and a TBI my poetry has become more spirtual more…

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