Tag Archives: depression



Splotches of mud cover
my ugly orange dress;
black tear stains
chronicles of plight.

Do you love me, now?
Voodoo doll’s distress;
a hideous, melting rainbow’s
bipolar state of strife.

Scratching a throbbing tumor
chaotic, malignant mess;
blue, brown, purple, pink,
picture-perfect, and bright.

Veiled by a fabric
inhibiting my breath;
a kaleidoscope of moments
the most hideous sight.

Caught up in my throat
these hiccups called death;
jostling beneath my sternum
on road bumps called life.





Love has never been my muse
Love has made me
irrational and illogical
ludicrous and atrocious
obsessive and compulsive
Compelling me to be
who I was not
Patient and kind
Soft and sober
Innocent and naïve
to those who
deserved it least


Depression has been my muse
My inspiration derived from
sadness and pain
brokenness and numbness
melancholy and despair
Talk to me of
lonely nights or
sighing at the moon on
sleepless nights
I will write you a poem
Or maybe two

Even when I am
happy and glowing
lively and bubbly
joyous and content
I could still write
a poem or two
drenched in darkness
pain and sorrow
For when there was
no one
There was my depression
a blank paper
and my pen


Love was never my muse
but his love
Radiating brilliance
Exhuming warmth
His love is
the tune to which
my pen dances
nay, it waltzes
across the page
twirling dandily
in the September rain
His love is
my guiding star
my navigating sky
His love is
my ocean
my anchor
His love is
my inspiration
my liberation

Love was never my muse
But his love is

Midsummer Monsoon


I’ve always had a broken heart
Its been that way from the start

Erratic beats of my heart; glitching
Restless tips of my fingers; twitching

My mind’s pendulum swaying to and fro
Measuring the distance I have to go

Running, escaping far away from me
Hoping that I would just cease to be

The person I have the power to become
Embodying the vices you had shun

Thus I swim on, against the mighty tide
Always trying to win this ferocious fight

In the end, I know not who will win
The eternal battle of virtue and sin

High and Dry


A thin needled dart
Straight to my heart

Injecting your venom
Crystal veritaserum

Spreading like a wild fire
Agony, anguish and desire

To inflict more to come
Broken bones tuned strum

Crashing waves of my blood
Bursting walls as it should

Rupturing, reeling, ripping
Mortal wisps slipping

Cloak of moonlight and crimson
No more home, no prison

The Circle


In my box of insanity
I silently dwell alone
This darkness, this misery
Is a burden of my own

The poison of my choice
A path destined for doom
I tend to my own grave
and let black roses bloom

Ask me not of my pain
For my heart’s ajar, bleeding
Pumping mercury to my soul
At my demons’ bidding

Poison in my veins, poison in my heart
This is my end, this is my start

A Note on the Kitchen Counter


I’m done, done, done! I seriously cannot do this anymore. My sanity is at the verge of combustion, bursting into burning orbs. Fragments of an existence that was once whole, once unified and once formed me, shall scatter into a void of some vast universe.

I’m gonna be gone, gone, gone… then what will you do? Nothing much can be done after that, honey. You’ll stay the same. Shed a tear or two, eh? Maybe. Please do so, after all you cared for me once upon a dream, right? Maybe an escaped gasp and bewilderment shall overcome you Maybe more than that but then what will you do? Will you look up at the stars and reach out for them in a failed attempt to grasp what is left of me? Trust me, my love. I am trying, trying, trying. So hard to fit into this mirage of unified humans submitting to conformity. But I find it terribly difficult to collect what is remaining of my energy to inhale/exhale for a purpose dictated by an imbecile majority. Gosh, these people make me puke. Ew, people. Ew, ew, ew! Humans think so highly of themselves that they consider every action of theirs justified.

Baby, I’m holding back, back, back. It’s like I’m falling into a black hole that’ll take me back in time. Retarded time and reversed tread. I have to control myself. I am not allowed to say what I think and do what I want. So here I am on this remote island gazing at this wondrous world where these humans are acting like animals and animals are being trained to act like humans. It’s a circus. Everyone’s putting up a show and strip teasing. Lust keeps oozing from the dribbling mouths of these hyenas. It’s like the uncontrollable wildness you see in the eyes of a madman, unsettling and perturbed. I am fighting, fighting, fighting. This is a war against my own self. Even if I win, I lose. I am struggling to adjust this veil that conceals my thoughts that I have from the thoughts I should have. Shush, shush! No one should know what I think of. Those silly thoughts shall lead to my execution! I let them control my life but hell no they won’t control my death.

But fuck it! I’m done, done, done. No one can save me. No one! No one!

Red Handed


An oppressive mourning day
Reveals an even darker night
Their barely worn clothes
Change from colors to white
The ones who share their blood
Are now submerged in plight
Lineages’ leak lost love
Humanity fading in this fight

We sent flowers off to bloom
They were withered in return
How can you be so idle
Witnessing the angels burn?
Masters on gilded thrones!
Is it not of your concern?
Ah yes, brutal atrocities
You would dare not discern

Pernicious minds bathed
In fatally noxious ideologies
Descending brilliance habitual
Of deadly destructive ease
Ecstatically rolling in blood
And skinning as a strip tease
As if the whore’s lust is
Immortal and to never cease

Oh broken friends and foes!
Are our cries even heard?
Or are we categorized amongst
The absolutely absurd
After all that happened
Is this what we deserved?
Our words and our sighs
Considered heaps of turd

Listen, O doomed nation!
The message loud and clear
Tomorrow it shall be us
Lying cold right here
Or maybe our beloveds
Shall tonight disappear
Feel it crawl under your skin?
Humanity being replaced by fear

© Rosh Von Amber 2014

NOTE: I wrote this poem at the breakfast table this morning. This my catharsis regarding the Taliban attack on a school in Peshawar, Pakistan killing 131 children. I have nothing more to say.bloody_hands_by_itsmylifeee-d4o2p91