WARNING AT BOTTOM OF PAGE

This is a mental health/mental illness blog dealing with daily life with words that are real and raw, video, pics, and music chosen by one fucked-up kitty. I am diagnosed Bipolar, with (crippling) Anxiety Disorder, and seriously horrific PTSD.
Sometimes it's a real treat of Freedom of Speech and Crazy to let it out, and scream something out in public when you just lose it, and let the stress out of your sails in one quick go, unlike the "unlucky" majority. Nope. Can't say everything is bad 100% of the time. Now take your meds and get ready...



This blog is permanently under construction/destruction.

Friday, February 28, 2014

Busted

My heart's just broken and may end up crippled forever. Or was it always crippled? It's been crippled since the early 70's. A big piece seems to be missing. Was it cut out? Did it burn out? It's definitely busted. No tears. No unkind words toward me or deeds. Could there be a void?

Oh how I wish I had a fucking drink or seven.






gun wears his alcoholism well
finger in bottle and swingin' it still
from Bed to Sink and back again
clock is crawlin' round the same
he's bustin' clock (he hates its face)
just sittin' and talkin' to Heart and ticks
talkin' back to Clock in slow and studied kicks
the fears of Gun are the fears of everyone.
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
love! love!
Gun does the waltz around the room
collecting Table and Chairs and Sofa and so on and so on
Gun wears his best blue suit, now let's take to the sky
'we'll go dancin' and eatin' it up
get a bottle and push it on down'
and let's just beat it up
transistor radio plays an overwhelmingly sad and lonely song
saying 'where she gone? where she gone?'
the fears of Gun are the fears of everyone.
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
fingers down the throat of love
love! love!