Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, death, flash fiction, lost, Mental Health, Poetry

Rita

Rita lays in bed, memories of younger days running through her head, she can’t get up, so reminisces to help the time go by, tears in her eyes as she roles back the years. She is waiting to be got up washed and dressed, Carers are late again causing her distress. Every day it is the same, on her own all night long no water no food feeling so lame. she rues the day she got old, the way she must live and she feels the cold. Carers come and knock the door, she wishes she could tell them she doesn’t need them anymore. Short of time, they can’t stay too long, with the system something must be wrong. Strip wash as quick as they can, is this how you would treat your gran. Cup of tea, no food, no time, it would be a crime. Left on her own, with pendent and phone, in four walls that she calls home.

She looks forward to the next visit, which will be soon, but, no one appears at noon, hunger pangs griping her stomach, she dares not complain, she should be grateful the morning people came. Three o’clock, they are late again sandwich and tea, she wishes they would stay, she tries a plea, they are off as soon as they came, short of staff and travelling again.

Last visit of the day, microwaved dinner on the tray, she is put to bed at eight o’clock, they can’t do it any other way, no matter how much she pays, she still must look forward to short lonely days. Night time is long, sleep is sporadic, she reflects on her life and her husband deceased who would have showered her at least. She longs to be with him, where ever he is, he’s truely missed.

Morning strikes and sunbeams drift in to the room. Carers knock at eight o’clock, they are early to put on her socks. They let themselves in and poke their head in on Rita hoping to greet her. There is no answer, they start to stare, her worn out body is in bed, but the spirit has fled, all they could do is stand and stare wishing they were not there. Rita’s soul stands in the room looking down like the moon seeing the reactions of those who care, now they have come early and she is not there.

 

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Taboo

Loving her always, you’re in a daze constantly berated never praise. She is tired, over worked, it’s just a phase, one of those days, excuses for her were made. Hidden temper, don’t upset her, all your fault, it will never halt. The person staring inside, you wished would just burst out and cry. Fists and feet and nothing to eat blood from your lips as you keep them zipped. Calm on the surface, smooth it out, you don’t want her to scream and shout.

Shouting insults, you don’t deserve, from the woman you love and thought you deserve. Never happy always right you haven’t got the energy for another fight. You take the beating and verbal spite, she’s not bothered if it’s day or night.

One last straw, you can’t take anymore, pin her down emotions are raw. This is the last time she attacks you for sure, you want to hit her but that behavior you deplore. Imaginary line drawn so fine. it’s too far this time, what you do next, your life will be defined. Get off her tell her to leave. you want her to live you can’t let her die. you sit in the corner and start to cry. She really doesn’t see why. She takes her stuff and leaves you feeling rough, the door slams and you’re all alone. Shattered and scared at the top of the stairs. go to bed with the smell of her still there

©All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, doubt, flash fiction, Mental Health, Poetry

Riddles In My Head

Lying in bed solving riddles in my head, replaying my inbuilt recording of everything that was said. The stillness of the night, no sound or light, every night it is the same ongoing fight. Bring me your light shining so bright, so I can see what I did right, to see the answers I need by the time the day is light.

 Hostage to history, to long lonely nights running flashbacks through my internal sight. Don’t let me go through another night, deciding what’s wrong and what’s right, contemplating whether I should stay or take flight.

 Hold me and shake me with all your might, stop my memories from inflicting blight. panic sets in as I close my eyes tight trying to cut out the thoughts of what might have been, stopping the tape of all I have seen. Erase me from the prison hell, that is taking place in this shell. My anxieties I need to quell, its 2 in the morning, your asleep and there is no one to tell, only me wrestling with Satan in this living hell.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, Uncategorized

Pat the Dog

Poppy the dog is no ordinary pooch, although, when you see her in the garden having a mooch you wouldn’t know that she is so special. She brings happiness and love to adults and children, who pat her and talk to her and run their fingers through her soft curled fir.

Displaying her jacket, she earns not a packet, of that she gives not a jot, for she has something to give and gives it to all, it means such a lot. She has many friends, in fact quite a lot, they all look forward to the Pat Dog slot.

The sight of the labradoodle helps patients improve by oodles as they feel her soft fluffy coat. She loves the attention and the happy times, so I hope she will like this rhyme, cos she is truly a wonderful dog, more affectionate than any mog. So, poppy, when I have finished writing this poem, I’m going to put you on my blog, cos you are a fantastic dog.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

 

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, bullying, flash fiction, love, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

The Spy that Loved Me

Follow me down to the wire where I am, what I do, you always enquire, of your checking I tire, trapped in the circle like a funeral Pyre. I wish you would go and let me be free instead you are constantly monitoring me. I once let my emotions run free but never thought you would bring me to my knees.

The shouting and scowling and balling us out, safe in the knowledge we won’t walk out, and if we do you will protest your love and claim you will meet him above. All I ask for is to be loved. To be trusted to stay true, can’t you see I only loved you? now I’m not sure whether that’s even true. I want to be free to just be me, it’s not about who I’m going to see it’s all about you stifling me.

So, pull up your anger and soften your voice, come here and love me it’s really your choice, listen to my heart and hear my voice before you leave me with no choice. I’m not scared of being alone of having my freedom in my own home. Of thinking and feeling and being whole once again not having to play these stupid games.

© All rights reserved Mark Symmonds 2017

 

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blogger, death, doubt, flash fiction, love, Mental Health, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Your Arms

Where did that love go? where was the connection, devoid of affection? all that’s left is reflection. No arms around me when I needed you most, when I couldn’t ask for your hug, you never saw the need, all alone just me. Feeling helpless and rejected needed to be connected.

Too much to bare, I sit and stare in the chair tablets and alcohol, life on the edge, no one to Pull me back from the impending black. You hid upstairs hoping it would soon end, all I needed was a friend their arms to lend, to be held tight through the night. On the phone to someone unknown, kind Samaritan hold my hand, tell me who I really am.

Wedge driven in our lives, I’m not sure why I’m alive. Yet another day to strive to give it my all, treated as a fool, used like a tool. Feeling unloved, uncared for, sick of this war, no one to look out for me, just a wreckage feeling so lonely, a rusting frame driven insane but still in the game. Suicide had nowhere to hide, I could have tried but once the tears had dried I knew I could not escape this lonely place, as looking after you all, I had to face guilt about what would be if you had all lost me. I don’t like this responsibility; the scar won’t heal with any amount of poetry. All I wanted was very simple and easy yes all I wanted was your arms around me. Saying that I am OK as me, arms that could set me free, to help me just be.

Markey Mark Symmonds anxiety, Blog, Blogger, death, flash fiction, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Past Midnight

Past midnight when noises are impolite and horror and doom loom in every sight. Past midnight when some are waiting for their plight, many will give up the long fight. Past midnight the darkest sight room lit atmospheric hit. Rolling clouds and tightening shrouds, owls and foxes shout aloud.

Shivers run down your spine, checking around to see what you can find, hoping you get back home just fine. Past midnight, the haunting time, when memories and thoughts combine, helping to pass the time. Clock flicks around in blurred glow, watching midnight come and go. Past the witching hour when ghosts and devils scour and the new darkness devours, lying awake listening to cracks and bumps until the small hours.

Heart races, imagined faces, mysterious places, longing to make it to morning, you try to stop yawning wishing the day was dawning. The shadows shrink and slowly nighttime sinks and devils and ghosts are a distant memory, to which you play host. Relief at the sun, night thief, darkness retracting its teeth to leave the joy of a new day to dance and jump and play. But, you know the darkness is all but finished and has only temporarily diminished, for tonight the darkness will return and in your mind, you will burn

 

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Anger Cage

Soft and gentle as a lamb kind to women and any man, do no harm conscience alarm. I won’t do you any harm, I will lead you with grace and charm. I will do good and help you be understood, help kids grow up into adult hood.

But burning inside of me, just waiting to be unlocked like a spring, is an anger that I can no longer anchor. An anger buried deep within it won’t let anyone in, but it’s bubbling and wants to burst out of the tin it’s safely in. Defensive tactics to bodyguard this feeling, let no body open the tin.

Pent up Inside, wanting to go and hide, I want to release this anger into a whirlwind. Let it out of its cage feel the full rage, hurt and destroy not with my emotions toy, I want to treat them like they treat me I want to set my anger free.

Eating a hole inside of me struggling to be and wanting to get free, I hold it down like some sort of crown yet the result is always the same, it’s the way I play the game. Yet if i set my anger free and brought those haters to their knees what shame and blame would be brought on me, if only they could see.

My wild side I continue to hide and carry on swimming against the tide, made to feel my anger should hide and take everything in my stride. So, if you one day find an empty cage that’s battered and broken and frayed, look for my anger as it will have escaped. Look over your shoulder and inside your soul, cos my anger, through you, might be taking a stroll. And if you find it roaming around, replace it in the cage without a sound or my anger will be back around.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, bullying, doubt, flash fiction, lost, love, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

Communication Breakdown

I try to communicate with you but you just get in a rage, doesn’t matter if I try to speak or put it on a page. I talk a lot but no one ever hears, my voice only echoes back through my ears. I could shout from a mountain top, it would not leave a blot, would it really bother you? cos you don’t give a jot.

My voice echoes inside this empty vessel trying to make you hear but you may as well not be here, my voice travels nowhere near. All I want is for you to hear, to speak without fear, without ridicule and for you not to sneer. So, when the words come out all the same it’s because I’ve said them over again.

Your attention I must gain this saga is becoming in vain, to say what I want to say, nothing inside my soul but anger and dismay. My thoughts are only decay, communication is such a tough game to play, its driving me insane again and again, overloading my brain.

 

Markey Mark Symmonds Blog, Blogger, flash fiction, lost, Mental Health, poem, Poetry, short story, Uncategorized

The Corners of my Brain

In the far corners of my mind live thoughts and feelings of many kinds, running around forming rhymes, wanting to be on time. Synapses fire signals around the wire, some inspire and some drop me in the mire, sending signals of desire and that my heart is on fire.

 Free radicals firing around the dusty corners of my mind, trying to find some place to bind and save a memory. Sometimes, there is dark matter and my brain begins to clatter. All the negative clatter, not sure what’s the matter. The dark places in the corner of my brain are where I go when I’m in emotional pain.

 In the corners of my brain is an area full of love, of doves and words that are cozy and kind and gentle. Then there are travelers, that move around and flick thoughts into my head. Sometimes absurd, they hound and pound, as they wiz around transmitting sound and messages from the ground. Yes, in the four corners of my mind there are thoughts of many kinds; long and short; good and bad and some that I ought not to have had.