Nail in the Coffin

This poem is about Anna Nicole Smith, how she lived her life before she died. People treating her like a martyr of society, using judging her for her looks, fame, and money hungry ways. It seemed as though she was a nuisance to society. However, I feel that inside she really didn't know who she was being so wrapped up in celebrity fame. She was very sensitive, maybe overly and she didn't know quite how to handle the world around her, thus her tragic and untimely death as a result of drugs. Kind of like Marilyn Monroe.

Let lay beneath this earth in peaceful harmony,
deceased from here, still there appears to be many many tears;
sudden cries of care revealed come to life to be,
as twists and turns far and near bare a face of greed.
Place a nail in the coffin, sealed, yet steal for gold,
rob a baby, sink the teeth eating away the shine,

Bleeding venom pours its seeds, drama yet unfolding,
As beneath this earth a goddess burns taken for all she's worth.

Appear not amongst painful of times,
nor upon a chosen love,
when the nail is in the coffin cinched tight,
blood begins to run.
Colors change from gold to red with many fingers claiming fortune,
signs of life, no roaming eyes, advantage taken without mercy,

As bleeding venom pours it's seeds, drama yet unfolding,
beneath this earth a goddess burns taken for all she's worth.

Human race non-existent to the pack of hungry wolves,
alive they hide refusing to see priceless life evolved;
Put a nail in her coffin, turn this world green,
as numbered souls paint the way to treasures trapped in graves.

For bleeding venom pours it's seeds, drama yet unfolding,
as beneath this earth a goddess burns taken for all she's worth.

Out of the woodwork the Moon Child sends his love,
demon seed and money greed, hypocrisy foreseen,
deceased in grief from gold to green with many many thieves,
as lifeless remains cease to exist well above the Devil's lair,

Where bleeding venom pours it's seeds, drama yet unfolding,
and beneath this earth a goddess burns taken for all she's worth.

Paul Hickey
12-16-11

A Kiss Before Dying

This poem is about a relationship where one mate cannot bare to live without the other. He wishes one more kiss from his beloved before putting himself and her to death. He cannot bare to think about her living her life with someone else so he kills her and himself as well. Now all the worry is gone.

Never in my wildest dreams have I felt such love for you.
Everyday, when I wake at dawn you're first to enter my mind.
When nightfall sets in, I lay with a rested heart beat as I fade into sleep,
for I cast my dark obsession, freedom black until we meet,
faster the heart is pounding underneath,
mad-hardening villain rendering me too tired to sleep.
Out of control, you have taken over my thoughts;
Fear I will lose the real me, be out of touch with reality,
allowing your image to become darker inside me.

                     "Love me please, get down on my knees,
                       blow you a kiss sweet obsession in me;
                       arresting my mind, your darkness inside,
                       following your scent, my soul is blind.
                       Love me please, I beg on my knees,
                       one last kiss before you die on me".

Deep is your scent, my lips plant from inside,
Madness prevails with bloody eyes feasted on him,
a hurtful heart stomping, fluttering, bursting through
this once human chest;
Deep is your scent, my lips plant from inside,
shot peepers fixated on him;
Deep is your scent, "kill you". "Love you",
out of my life, out of my head for good.

                      "Don't need a Reason to feel the way I do.
                        It feels kind of pleasing to release my anger on you.
                        Don't need a reason, if you only knew,
                        it feels kind of soothing to spill the blood from you.
                        Don't need a reason to want to shoot me to,
                        it feels kind of relaxing to lay right next to you".

On the verge of depression, death, love, life at once existing,
lost with dignity, hope, power of mind and body faded,
I can't even open my eyes.
Am I cancer stricken, eclipsed, shut down in emotion
between dysfunctional lobes,
Is there feudal stress in this once lively rose?

                        "Blackness in the rose, tumor in my head,
                          I don't even know who I really am.
                          Blackness in the rose, I don't really care,
                          kiss me one last time, we are a dying pair.
                          Blackness in the rose, I'm losing all control,
                          tumor in my head, tumor in my soul".

Reaching out, I kiss your lips; they are cold like our forthcoming death;

                        "Turn your head, I beg you please,
                          let me, let me, oh let me please
                          reserve you for all eternity;
                          Let me, let me, oh let me please,
                          make it so no one can have you but me".

                         "Help me, help me, oh help me God,
                           I have killed the one thing I love;
                          Now I can't live with the horror I've done,
                          I'm ready to be punished oh Heaven above".

                         "Eye for an eye", I'm ready to die,
                           forget what I said, I would rather shoot myself dead;
                           I have killed the one thing, the only one thing I loved,
                           with a bullet in my brain, I've killed my obsession for love".

                         "Blackness in the Rose, tumor in my head,
                          I don't even know who I really am.
                          Blackness in the Rose, I don't really care,
                          kiss me one last time, we are a dying pair.
                          Blackness in the Rose, I'm losing all control,
                          tumor in my head, tumor in my soul.
                          Kiss before dying, ensure me you are mine,
                          cold lips are defying, warm blooded you will find.
                          Kiss before dying, I'm losing all control,
                          tumor in my head, tumor in my soul.


Paul Hickey
12-15-11
                       
                    

Mighty Ruler

This poem is about the son of God Jesus Christ. Everywhere you look is the presence of Jesus, in the wind blowing, the rain falling, the leaves blowing. He is in every one of us. He died for us and for our sins. He does not judge us for our sins. He knows we are not perfect. we all have within us good and evil and Jesus understands this but still has faith in all who walk the earth as he did long ago in creation of man and earth. He built the world in 6 days an rested on the 7th but his devotion and faith in man never rests.

Far beyond distant horizons lurks power only foreseeable to man,
courage which dies only of devastation from spiritual hands above,
otherwise living immortal under watching eyes of Heaven;
Mighty stands one man, one ruler under God, of forsaken barren lands.

Steel shiny armor stern, stiff, strong as the human heart within,
worn on the iron sleeves of he who charges ever fearlessly in,
defender of honor, he encourages faith for life from death,
dashing for freedom, for love of those worth fighting for,
perishing to let live the Heaven he built for eternity.

Savior, saint, existing far beyond the call of life's blindness,
fall not from torrid sin which man displays with regret,
live regardless of destruction of our maker's sun,
drowning of the light from feudal human existence,
live to let live the Heaven he built for eternity.

Emerge from flesh, body, rise from ash beneath, pinned
upon the cross, a shell representing life, death, christianity;
From each and every soul he christens, a light among the dark,
humanity found in the depths of inhumanity,
live to let live the heaven he built for eternity.

Prince of darkness parading smiles inside all faithful beings,
condemn not for desires harmful and obscene;
Judge not for being taken by surprise from lower powers that be,
neither reigns perfect, in fact far from the seed,
live to let live the Heaven he built for eternity.

Journeyman walking distances for man to claim residence,
granted rest not taken until destiny driven reached;
Footsteps across many sands, hills, mountains, beaches,
across waters of the seven seas,
live to let live the planet he built for eternity.

Mother's womb, creation developing with time,
delivered with purpose to be spread throughout this earth,
born to experience wonder, beauty, hope, in awe
through dark, light, protected by makings of spiritual essence,
live to let live creations he built for eternity.

Thunder rolling through darkened skies bowling,
evidence our mighty ruler lives among pleasures of nature,
rain falling freely, wind blowing gently, gusting
through still strands of hair, silencing our breath,
as he lives to let live the atmosphere he built for eternity.

Guidance felt in body sickness curing poisonous venom
clattering throughout shivering shrinking bones,
strength of heart and soul growing stronger as the spine
thickens in mass, underneath the skin the body shall breathe,
live to let live life he built for eternity.

Paul Hickey
12-9-11

The Finish Line

This poem is about chasing a dream and stopping short of accomplishing the goal of reaching that dream. After falling short of the dream, taking the time to improve yourself personally so that you can reach your goals.

I remember the first time I plunged deep into depth,
I didn't feel anxious until I started the test.
I'm chasing a dream, what if it doesn't come true?
If I fail one more time, what will I do?
It's a race for the finish line, I've stalled in my tracks,
after coming all this way, there's no turning back.
A small little cubical, my picture on the screen,
and the bold patterned faces made me wanna scream.
On the monitor were these images, none I could see,
words shaped like monsters, what really could they be?
I read the tutorial, went straight for the start,
When the first question flashed there was fear in my heart.
It was big, it was blinding, my head start to hurt,
and out the corner of my eyes a proctor would lurk.

"I did not go to work, I did not go to school,
I did not socialize with anyone I thought was a fool".

I had a funny feeling and it didn't feel good,
as I tried to weave confidence in spite of my moods.
It felt like evil-doing projecting failure through my eyes,
as lodged in my brain were damaging thoughts of demise.
I tried to ignore this grave of descent;
in the end it took refuge, my head heavy like cement.
The more I would think, the more tired I would become,
Finally, I gave in and the devil had won.
I attempted to vanish the negative thoughts in my head,
but half way through the test my confidence was dead.
My head went all blank with neurotic despair,
if my eyes had hands, they would have been pulling out my hair.
Whispers in the distance only finalized my fate,
when I found I was behind, there wasn't any break.
I had to move forward and finish the test,
although I new prior, I had gasped my last breath.

"I did not go to work, I did not go to school,
I did not socialize with anyone I thought was a fool".

In the end there was no finish, only urges to sprint and hide,
am I the only one to blunder, not finish at the finish line.
My eyes grew lethargic, my brain power faint,
I new I was doomed for I just couldn't think.
My face started perspiring, hands covered in sweat,
my heart began pounding, dropping like lead.
My heart beat was rapid, my body was still,
the bones in my back grew cold to the chill.

"I did not go to work, I did not go to school,
I did not socialize with anyone I thought was a fool".

Under protest I signed up to run another time,
stepped outside, got into my car, and my brain began to cry.
As I entered the freeway,  mind flooded, my chest began to flutter,
overwhelmed with emotion, I could not drive, I pulled into the gutter.
My chest still throbbing, brain still weeping, whole body trembling with strife,
I sat hunched over, ready to vomit, in position to flail and die.
I grabbed my phone to make a call, something stopped my urge,
hearing her voice would punish me more, anger would again emerge.
I continued to sit in silence with my head in my palms,
moping over what could have been, becoming like a bomb.
My face drooping downward saddened, reflecting my inner pain,
wondering, what can I do to help restore my pride again?

"I did not go to work, I did not go to school,
I did not socialize with anyone I thought was a fool".

Grievance past, I now look back, to ponder unsuccessful strides,
making plans for an alternate outcome without closing my eyes.
"Oh what can I do? What can I do? What can I do to make it all go through"?

I need to take good care of myself both in and out of body,
maybe I'll see a doctor or two to free me from being naughty.
I need to seek much needed help to cure the pain in my head,
I need someone who can prescribe to me anti-anxiety meds.
I need to increase my fitness until sweat perseveres into puddles,
I need more food and sleep to keep me from seeing doubles.
I need to be tested for my burden to learn, keep alive my self-worth,
I need to wear glasses to help me feel awake and alert.
I need the extra time to think, test me more and more,
to improve my ability to comprehend, receive a better score.
All and all may be enough, next time I shall pass the test,
If I don't you can thoroughly bend and kiss my big white ass.
If I do I won't think any less of you, hold you close to my heart,
thank you for all the support you have given from the very start.

"Then I would go to work, then I would go to school,
then I would socialize with everyone no matter who's the fool".

My eyes opened wide, my brain power restored,
it's all over now, no need to think anymore.
My face braised with smiles, hands clenched like a winner,
my heart stops pounding, rising with a glorious shimmer.
My heart beat is normal, my body is still,
the bones in my back warm up from the chill.
I now believe there is a finish, sun shines beyond the hills,
although there are obstacles to overcome, I am now feeling the will,
and all I have to do is conquer the slopes,
finish at the finish line.

"Then I would go to work, then I would go to school,
then I would socialize with everyone no matter who's the fool".

Paul Hickey
12-6-11

Strength of Heart and Soul

This poem is about a supervisor of mine who supervised me during my internship for my license. She died of Lung Cancer in 2006 while still supervising me as an intern.

Model of the healing kind, both helpful and Divine,
     rare power to help discouraged souls
to open up their eyes.
    I appreciate you lending me the gold straight from your heart,
with that gold, pass it on
    to those who stand apart.
I know one day I will prevail and succeed to reach my goals,
    when I do, I will remember you,
the strength of heart and soul.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

I See, I See

This poem is about all the things in my life which has lead me to being part of the mental health system. It includes friendships that really weren't friendships "Witch's Son", relationships gone wrong "The Phantom", loneliness from being ostracized from the "In-Crowd" for not doing whatever the "In-Crowd" wanted me to do, and suicide attempts in the earlier parts of my life which almost lead to death "Bring me a hammer, my face is red, hit me until I can't breathe again". These attempts would leave me hospitalized in intensive care for weeks with a security guard positioned outside my hospital room to make sure I didn't try anything drastic "The sound of funeral music tuned in my head", not to mention two years of my life that I live in a hospital setting as well as a state hospital.

"I see", "I see", a little war
that brought me to a psycho-ward.
"I see", "I see", those little thoughts
that hung me down for tears to drop.
I release my agony everywhere,
but miss the brain that brings despair.

"I see", "I see", a puzzle piece,
these thought have got me on a leash.
"I see", "I see", a witch's son,
the spell on me is all or none.
Bring me a well to wish a sum,
the sound I hear are the sound of guns.

"I see", "I see", me in my head,
I wonder why the living is dead.
"I hear", "I hear", a sound in my bed,
vibrations of funeral music tuned in my head.
Bring me a hammer, my face is red,
hit me until I can't breathe again.

"I see", "I see", my thoughts are lost,
split me open, the future is shot.
"I see", "I see", the two that rise,
a phantom and a voice of sigh.
Death it seems afar and near,
the phantom brings me phantom tears.

"I see", "I see", little too much,
to what my heart has little to touch.
"I see", "I see", a silent goodbye,
remember of the brain to die.
Can't picture me in tomorrow's scene,
no beauty my heart bring forth to me.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

Only God Can Judge Me

This poem is about equality and hypocrisy. How many of you have been in a position where people are judging you for the situation that you are in and giving you advice. Then these same people find themselves in the same position and they themselves don't take the same advice they have given you. For example, in today's world of unemployment. It is very easy for someone to say "Why don't you do this or why don't you do that"? Especially when they are employed. However, when they find themselves unemployed and in the same position, they don't take that same advice..very hypocritical if you ask me!

Feasting eyes with jealous words bombard disturbingly without reason,
hypocrisy surmounting with silence staring face-to-face,
as distortion of truth passed from one-to-one
animates visions in the mind's eye of gullible listeners,
taken in from inhumanity of human kind;
Whoever claims rights to control my every move
shall be stricken down with lightning, over come with karma,
left to live with guilt, or left to die by one's own hand.

Only one power greater than my own can judge me for who I am,
creator of man, beliefs of humanity born to everyone;
Flesh filled with purpose complimenting existence on this earth,
God-given needs for all, rights reserved to maintain.
Those attempting to take away shall burn in Hell,
imprisonment forever, where one deserves no freedom,
engulfed with flames of one's own making,
motive charred beyond recognition.

Paul Hickey
11-25-11

Idiot Up My Ass

This poem is for anyone who knows someone who is rude, insulting, and literally a pain in the ass. Have you ever heard some one ask you when you are mad, "What's up your ass? Well, if you hear it again and you have someone who is constantly insulting, you can say "an idiot is up my ass".

Idiot up my ass,
feels like a spreading rash,
someone plunged deep into my crack;
Itching and burning, like a hemorrhoid
needing to be surgically removed before he reaches my brain,
hematochezia from a swollen vein,
he bleeds in my internal world;
A giant scab after causing my wounds,
the mouth of the feces splits me wide open.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Mortal Lesson

This poem is about one man's revenge on another man and woman who run off and start a relationship together leaving the forgotten man behind. The woman is caught cheating on him. His only wish, his only dream is to watch them suffer for his emotional pain.

Pull up behind him,
stop short at his back,
swing my leg upward,
kick his feet from out under.

Bend myself low,
grab hold of his collar,
lift the creep upward,
choke-force a holler.

Center my foot at the base of his spine,
arch his trunk backwards,
as the hatch opens wide;
Reveal a bottle, unscrew the lid,
grab hold of his hair and tie up his wrists.

Compel the poison until he's numb inside,
no feeling in his face,
pale outside;
Meanwhile a scream rings out from a near,
"stop"! "Stop"! "Stop it you hear"!

I then twist my head with an unreal grin,
lift up my foot
to track down again;
Releasing his collar from the grips of my hands,
no longer I seek, he is a lifeless man.

I abandon the corpse to run down a witch,
as I get closer
the witch starts to trip;
Slipping from traction as I push herself down,
she falls with a tumble, her face in the ground.

Again I stop short for torture and pain,
press down on her back
like I did with her friend;
Grasp hold of her hair to arch her back slowly,
twist her neck around, a cervical fracture.

After the break, it falls back into place,
with pressure by my hands,
I smash in her face;
Flip the witch over, a catatonic stare,
because of my past, I really don't care.

Pick up a rock as I straddle her chest,
raise my limbs high
for assurance of death;
Down I plummet with insurmountable force,
infinite blows with no remorse.

Pack up my tools,
take a casual stroll;
I don't realize the trouble
nor the future it holds.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Miscellaneous Rain

This poem is about someone who has lived his life with years of built up emotional pain from various incidents throughout his life. He tries to cry to release the agony and cleanse his soul but can't find the strength to let it out. However, in the end he has learned how to show his emotion and is finally able to cry.

Cranial hemorrhage,
crimson leaks into mystifying eyes,
still as night,
motionless mist catatonic in visual light,
trouble hidden beneath my cries.
I don't know why.
Why rain falls only in my mind?
Could it be infamous suffering
causing miscellaneous rain?

Why are my tears isolated in fear?
Why? Please give me reasons for this frozen stare,
my head active, pain-shearing in grief.
Can anybody hear? Does anybody care?
God only knows why I feel so scared?
Seeds are planted. What do they reveal?
Exceedingly fast, higher, higher it grows
with no direction, no purpose;
Days on end excruciating shame,
days on end miscellaneous rain.

Let go of this moisture ever silent, tranquil,
descend with liquid emotion,
ensure I am alive and can feel.
Free me, flush me inside out,
"drip-dropping", drip-dropping",
sounds, visions of scarlet tide falling,
much needed pouring,
much needed mourning,
draining me of my flooded brain,
washing away pain,
finally letting go of this miscellaneous rain.

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Felled Disdain

This is poem that involves tremendous emotional turmoil in one's life and fear of being able to conquer his mood swings. "Felled" mean fierce and "Disdain" means to look at with scorn, thus the title "Felled Disdain". The first line, "Termination floods over an importunate spleen" means an individual who is normally strong being troubled and over come with emotion. "Of all inheritance reigns implacable scars" means that the pain is so deep that the emotional turmoil cannot be cured. "Forlorn" means loneliness, thus "Forlorn in dizziness of pain" means living with loneliness while battling the severe emotional turmoil. "I've been gnashing at grievance of disdain" means one is sick and tired of feeling emotional turmoil, so he battles it everyday. "Outgoing in pendulum ways" means that one is very active but very flaky as a result of his moods. "Felled entwining needles sway", "Cuts and needles cradle me away", "Times of winter blinded by rain" mean that the flakiness is painful and very disruptive of his daily living. The final stanza talks about judgement and other people stigmatizing him as being mentally ill. Why are they calling him mentally ill. Why won't they help him?

Termination floods over an importunate spleen,
of all inheritance reigns implacable scars;
Forlorn in dizziness of pain,
I've been gnashing at grievance of disdain.

Outgoing in pendulum ways,
felled entwining needles sway,
cuts and bruises cradle me away,
times of winter blinded by rain.

I've seen the sane bar manic listings of I as one,
being brought forth to be sustained,
"Why"?
This question has been defined deranged!

Paul Hickey
11-23-11

Miter Was a Writer

Many poets have one thing in common, drugs and/or alcohol. Many of them may claim that their writing is often influenced by the use of drugs and/or alcohol. They believe that creativity really begins to flow while under the influence. Well, that is what this poem about; a writer who finds creativity through the use of drugs and alcohol.

Once upon a time there was a man named Miter
who reached to the stars to become a chronic mad writer.
Spider was his first name, miter was his last,
his middle name was mad because he wrote so fast.

His love wasn't clear, either was his life,
his focus was a woman who stabbed him with a knife.
Miter was a writer who held his power in his ink,
his ideas were amazing under the influence of a drink.

Dirty women, dark and light, were objects of his desire;
he seemed to be obsessed with the thought of breathing fire.
He carried a wicked pen, donned a liquid glowing eye,
he spent his time writing, drinking, thinking, and getting high.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Nature Calls

This little poem is about rest and relaxation. It is about finding a place that helps you to relax when under stress. Communicating with nature. Making friends with nature.

You are Yosemite,
my only remedy for my obscenities,
my only home to which I roam
when tension snows,
you are infinity,
you are my friend.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Rain

This poem tends to be very symbolic about sadness and happiness. What is happening is that rain symbolizes tears of sadness for whatever reason. It could be just that the weather is bad and the person has seasonal affective traits or he/she is sad about something. Clouds passing by, and the sun burning into the night is symbolic of sadness turning into happiness. Rain ceasing and no more for miles is saying that the sadness and the crying have come to an end.

Up above in the worldly sky,
diamonds fall from way up high.

From my eyes I feel the drips,
fall from Heaven down to my lips.

From inside I start to cry,
as gloomy clouds pass us by.

Give way to Heaven shining bright,
sun that burns into the night.

Crying eyes soon turn to smiles,
rain has ceased, no more for miles.

Paul Hickey

11-22-11

Red Death

This is actually a poem about a drink. I was at a bar one time and I saw someone drinking. what he would do is line up three "Red Death's in a row and he and his buddy would take turns seeing how long it would take to drink all three of them.

Crimson reigns across intoxicated sheltered skies.
Well beyond the heavens I rise, peaking from the stars.
Spirits dance deep within confines of my mysterious mind,
too far gone, blood-red, existent reality barred.

For distant planets I reach from within my blistered soul,
positivity, negativity, I shall make myself at home.
Spirit-drowned up in a hole, nowhere I have to go,
poison toxins released with life awakening my sleepy bones.

"Red death times three, make a line for me,
one-by-one with a wicked laugh I demolish the bloody three"

Water-logged freak felt from nectar in-grown pride,
liquid Gods planting seeds, I am momentarily freed.
Damaged insides, eventually deep down I will die,
sigh, alone with my drink I shall quietly bleed.

Opened up to a whole new world to be, I see,
enjoyment experienced with all who stick around.
Flirtatious company enabling heart-felt needs,
careless of the many thoughtless thinking sounds.

"So give me Red Death times three, make a line for me,
one-by-one with a wicked laugh I demolish the bloody three".

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Silent Suicide

This poem is about someone who has had a history of suicide attempts. Over the years he has made a great come back short of becoming successful, only to come up against severe road blocks on his journey to his career path. He thinks about suicide but remembers the past and how much of a mess for other people to clean up the after math of the attempts. So instead of attempting suicide by pills or gun etc., he just lives his life, letting nature take its course, as he self-medicates with alcohol on a nightly basis, gradually destroying his internal organs, something he knows will eventually lead to a slow and silent death.

Complex misery manifests silently within deep depths of my soul.
My spirit screams endlessly at barriers blocking light to external freedom.
Paleness colors my perplexed face, for demons cannot escape.
I fail to feel your touch, hear your voice; Lost inside my head,
prisoner of loneliness and despair displaying a surface that really isn't there.
Upon meeting, I don smiles. You think it is real. I believe it to be me.
deep, deep, down in reality it is fake. Lies continue on.

If you can only visualize death inside me. Support systems are dwindling.
I feel void of any passion for life. My heart yearns to cry everyday.
As I fade into solitude, I attempt to retrieve sparks that once
made me passionate for God's many pleasures. "Nectar of the Gods"
unleashed discretely, provides me with temporary sanity,
only to slowly take away my senses and destroy my internal organs,
my body shell hardening, halting every breath. Cancer stricken,
slowly I perish from this earth in grasps of a silent suicide.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Request for Death

This poem is about murder for hire. The person to be murdered is someone who betrayed his best friend by having an affair with his girlfriend.

Request for death,
deed for you,
do this for me,
you'll earn your dues.
Follow him home,
mark your place,
wait there a while
before you change.
Ready your weapon,
your on a quest,
take your time,
I want him dead.
Take your time,
do it right,
advance by dark,
still by light.
Remain there unseen,
stay eternal,
stake your gaze
through the window internal.

Sun is set,
again you move,
beneath the window
to carry it through.
Feast your eyes,
a figure inside,
little does he know
about what's outside.
Let him relax,
fall asleep,
fade away,
as you continue to creep.
Keep your head low,
just below,
under each side-house window pain
get down on all fours,
slip quietly through the side door,
like a cat coming in from the rain.

Roam upon the backdoor,
open the wiry cover,
unfold your trusty pocket knife
to pick away the other.
Condemn the noise,
smother the creak,
should the door alert his ears,
sneak inside,
there he sleeps,
not conscious of the fear.
Look around,
what's inside,
I don't really care;
commit the crime,
then we'll talk,
for you have earned your share.
Dive beside the bed,
be sure he doesn't peak,
wait for when the time is clear,
then rise up on your feet.

Shine the steel,
blind his eyes,
as carefully he does wake;
As he does,
cover his mouth,
as both hands suffocate.
Lift his chin,
draw a line
in red from ear-to-ear;
On this mark
cut his throat
and the blood will persevere.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Oh my God!
What have you done?
You cannot stop the blood;
Just place the body in a plastic sack
and let the crimson run.
Rush the corpse to the backdoor,
catch a glimpse of the midnight air,
shift your eyes from side-to-side
to see if all is clear.
In a flash,
exit the door,
trace the footsteps to your place,
throw the dead in the trunk of your car
and drive to a watery grave.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Look around,
is there anybody there?
The forest it seems clear;
Open the trunk,
lift the dead skunk
and drop him at the edge of the river.
Decide on location,
placement unknown,
where you can escape from the heartless crime;
Pick up the stiff,
wade into the rift
and drop him where you make up your mind.
Descend him where it's deep,
he's sure to finally shiver,
wrap him in a cotton sheet
and toss him in the river.

Report back to me,
mission accomplished,
you shall get your share;
He is damp and deep,
eternally asleep,
no longer in my hair.
He is descended where it's deep,
there he'll surely shiver,
wrapped up in a cotton sheet
and tossed into the river.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Shallow Soul

This poem is about releasing revenge on shallow, materialistic people. A person has taken so much from people being bullied, made fun of, because he is destitute and not attractive to women..the result, revenge on those who do him wrong.

Shallow is your hopeless soul,
hollow is your grave;
Dig yourself an empty hole,
I shall set the blaze;
Hail to my pyre,
ritualize and chant,
raise my hands up to the sky,
cast away and laugh.

Shallow is your hopeless soul,
hollow is your grave;
Mirrored in your narrow hole,
slave to my flame;
If this is our humanity,
let fools have their way;
Beware of my profanity
released from me in vain.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Sinking of the Morning

This poem is about Major Depressive Disorder. Picture yourself not wanting to wake up in the morning. When you wake up you do not want to get out of bed and there are millions of thoughts occupying your mind. these thoughts take over your mind all day and night leaving you severely depressed, maybe even to the point of experiencing hallucinations and/or delusions...complete and utter torment.

Early haze turned into funnel clouds,
pages of social history,
as I awoke to thinking yearning,
morning minds were sinking.
Laying in the glow of daylight,
cradled in a pillow fight,
I was slipping off the sleek of dawn
into the darkness of night.
My mind frozen seared,
dreams demented black,
false smiles cold,
on I cry.
Reality mingles on,
faith tumbles out,
and on I die.

Paul Hickey
11-22-11

Innocence taken away

Inside child grieving, innocence taken away,
stolen from trusted hands that feed her;
Unprotected by flesh and blood, betrayal
by those she loved with passion, with heart,
they were the heart and soul within her,
yet there is death of inner ruins from tainted tree roots.

Alive, breathing shallow, occupied by fear,
disassociating from vivid imagery of connected fate,
she stands in avoidance of trauma past and present,
as emergence will trigger wailing violent screams
deep into the dead of night, like dead waking the dead,
yet periodic bursts of light sparkles hope from bleak.

Upon me a scared and loving child stricken with unthinkable pain,
granted, a hailed survivor, courageous and sincere,
so much love to give from a heart brutally halted at will.
I listen closely, as she calls out for a caring touch,
need for snug embrace, still, to ensure comfort of being,
endured, an endless fight for freedom to escape the nostalgic perpetrator.

Paul Hickey
11-20-11

Mind Astray

This poem is about living with schizophrenia.

Fragments of life has gone.
My saturated mind is on the combines of retribution,
no cure or natural solution;
Observe myself in feeble prostration of any prior peril needed
to overcome to live a normal seed, not yet defeating
the prolonging threat of agony.
Schizophrenia continues to hammer at me,
like two hearts on the Virge of attack,
with awe, if the end is approaching fast.

"Enter beast once never sought,
as hopes in me grieve heaven not".

Ponder if I can persevere without feeling full forces of psychosis
splitting functioning portions of my brain.
Time is not over for me.
I can still lose my mind completely.
I pray not though the weight of the world balances on my shoulders.

"Mind astray clue me in as when,
if or if not the devil is closing in".

Desolation has already invaded the innocence of my vanity,
filling my mind with obsessive profanity.
"Possessed by fear of the other in me,
normality I can no longer hear or see".
In solitude I stay!

Isolation from society involves fear of fear
overtaking my thoughts, as if I am gazing directly into a mirror.
"I withhold my space through imaginary fear,
anyone incoming begins my flight of tears".

Unheard voices proceed to build with profound anxiety.
Centered deep in the limbic system,
they magnify with untamed affect, waiting to penetrate my head.
Even though they have not yet taken control of my thinking,
I fear that tomorrow I may be dead.
I think about what use to be.
I intoxicate myself to ease any further pain,
seizing creatures that pound on me
while attempting to shed grace in God's name.

"Torment awaits to bleed for real,
as I feel the influence of a mental shield".

I am beginning to foresee the future.
Hallucinations try to obliterate what's left of reality
into strange features never before seen by human eyes;
"Touch me with anything"!
"Grip me with something"!
"Tap me with nothing"!
I will feel a strength extremely unreal.

"Evil out-wits actual existence,
through the ears, on the skin, in the visual distance".

Struggling for dear life, normality of nostalgic sights
which I once functionally contained, become more and more
that of images of underground spirits sweeping through
the symbolism of my dreams.

"Abused by all sorts of words in the wind,
abruptly scarce shadows emerge from within".

I appeal to you screaming from the top of my lungs
when social objects step forth through my space,
purely a bludgeoned burial for faith!
observe my body.
It is floating!
It is drifting!
There are no thoughts that appear authentic.

"Anything within my fantasies are mine,
here my talents noticeably shine.
If you corrupt my still training of thought in deceiving ways,
I will yell for your hell until you regretfully obey".

"No,no,no"! "Somebody help me"! "Hurry... rescue me"! "Let me live"!
"Where did they go"? "Are they above me"? "Are they behind me"?
"Are they in front of me"? "Every body's after me"!
"They are coming from all walks of life, from various directions",
as delusional persecution causes me to look through the eyes of others
in betrayal of myself.

                                       "FRIGHTENING"!
                                       "SELF-HYPNOTIZING"!

Unbelievable, unforgettable, undeniably set aside from attack, I am Peter Pan
ruling the world; leader of the pack, and my girlfriend is Wendy.
Endeavor to refrain me. No one can! I am hero to the young, superior to the old;
the only one who can save you from violent misconduct. Delusions of grandeur
beckon all life's taste of precision and materiality in my blood.
                                       "GRATIFYING"!
                                       "MYSTIFYING"!
To far over my head to pull myself together. The speculation sustains on.

"Spiritual war of right and wrong,
obtained from the trepidation I carry on".

Schizophrenia, world of dementia,
common worry for some, liberty abandoned.
He had his goals, he had his ambitions, he had his friends
and much more;
                                    "LIGHTNING STRIKES"!
                                    "FEUDAL BITES"!
Infliction of curses demonizes anguish from the soul.
As the blissful planet calgonizes eternally,
hence from myself I see it go.

Paul Hickey
11-19-11

Dark and Silent Me

This poem is for everyone who has a silent dark side that no one knows about. Often times people will say, "I know you very well". The truth of the matter is nobody knows anyone completely. This is about showing the sunny side in public but behind closed doors the dark side emerges and grows stronger with every minute one is left alone. Eventually this dark side becomes released in public.

I am searching for an Angel
to cleanse my sinful soul;
Tired of the heartache,
the weight of my hole.

I am feeling kind of dreary
from my world grown apart;
I have a headache bulging
from my barely beating heart.

I feel concealed hatred
repeatedly taring at my brain;
In it's grasp, I don a mask
disguising me from pain.

I can barely keep my eyes open
to indicate a pulse;
I feel like sleeping the night away
to free me from the hoax.

You are the Devil loitering
with every thought I preach;
I am my worst enemy,
the Devil as we speak.

I want to splatter blood
while shredding to bits your head;
I want to feel relieved
knowing that you are dead.

I am eating my existence
with self-defeating sayings;
There may be a slug
chilling through my veins.

Drunk from the spirit
that kills my living cells,
I am blasted on the moonshine,
where Heaven becomes my Hell.
My finger pulls the trigger
to perish both of me;
Watch your step, I may forget
and shoot both you and me.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Bones

This poem is about aging, arthritis, and having the bones degenerate as one gets older.

Frail is the spine that burdens,
naked as the hinge draws closer,
age ascending! calcium descending!
Kyphosis, each liquid draining,
Lordosis, I feel a little lame.
I flex but I am stiff.
Soundness, Just let me stretch!
 Just let me sleep!
Burning, swollen, aching knees,
Exhausted from carrying the weight of my bones.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Don't Leave

This poem is about a close friendship. When one person has to move far away the other is extremely saddened by her departure, wondering who he can turn to with his most intimate secrets now that she is leaving. Some how he finds strength from within and uses the memory of her to push on through life. Even though she is not physically present, her spirit still keeps him alive.

Relations spent in entirety,
annoyances we share,
sorrows I struggle to swallow,
as you flee to test the air.
My mind is labored hollow,
I wail myself to sleep,
your persona missed,
I yen to follow,
so I deeply weep.

"Run-drip", "run-drip", I fail to halt my tears,
final days, final stay, they will fall for infinite years.
Don't leave, I need you here!
I need your support and care!
What to do without your heart,
without your soul so near?
I can't imagine someone like you to totally disappear!
Your memory lives, I can handle my stress,
God-like vision, I can handle my stress,
you are an Angel floating around.

I will always hold a special place for you.
I will reserve your essence in my heart.
I will keep your soul unhidden in me.
I will bless your spirit wherever you are.
I will incessantly reflect upon you.
I will praise the Angel internal.
I will remember you whatever you do,
and so I cry eternal.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Bombs

This poem is about the many people out there in this world who have difficulty expressing their anger in appropriate fashion. Instead, their anger builds inside them until one final straw causes the bomb to explode leading to murder, shooting rampages etc.

Several lives flourish as another erupts in flames,
another tale of world-wide tragedy,
no answers only blame.
Have we not learned from past experience
of the many deeply buried bombs?
Many lay upon us just waiting to go off.

Have we not learned from prior world-wide blood
spilled by the human hand,
the needy to be nurtured so that blood won't spill from man?
Bombs among us walk the earth buried deeper every day,
as vastly ignored and brushed aside,
we let explosive crimson reign.
As another story unfolds somewhere and innocent people die,
clueless words are spoken again,
"I never thought he would do it".

Bombs that walk upon us often start early and sprout through life,
what makes the bomb explode with blood,
is never ending strife.
Defusing may be possible, difficult when the fuse looms larger,
Stoppage as it first is planted
will most likely halt the trigger.
Stigma lives on of mental health that should never ever be,
as a result the world is afraid to acknowledge
the warning signs that be.

There are many bombs among us, another tragedy will occur again,
who and what will be the target?
Who will die and live?
Vastly ignored and brushed aside, disparity will happen again,
lets wake up and help each other,
not bully each other instead.
Single looks, single words, the way one dresses, the way one appears,
lets wake up and help each other dissipate these bombs,
embrace the old and the young with faith to carry on,
that only us as humans can move as one beyond,
stop this carnage overload from reaching mass decline.

Shades of color walking free with different engulfing flavors,
all with alternate views
of how to look at human behavior.
When man spills blood from his fellow man leaving the world to conjure the cost,
its time to exclude from our values,
try to save what we have lost.
Bombs of different flavors, different shades of color,
who are taught to hide their problems and keep them deep down under.

When the next bomb drops with whatever thoughts spilling human blood,
there will be no time to think about
whether or not we are understood.
Living is dead, several are dead, who cares about what is culture?
Just unite with open arms, embrace the world together.

What are those words always spoken just after a bloody rampage?
"He seemed so shy, just a regular guy
but I never thought he would do it".
Proof of the past again and again has shown how destructive one person can be,
if a bomb is left inside of them
for what seems an eternity.
It could be you, it could be me, or someone we may never see,
I know one thing's for sure, until we learn
more and more people will bleed.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Choice of Heart

This poem is about someone who is addicted to cocaine and who chooses cocaine over a friendship.

See visions of you flying flaw with life,
fall truth of what desecrates premonition;
Under scope there is no time for me,
you must derail, withdrawal drug-free;
Pother about mortifying death you wish,
see you with eternal snowy mist;
See disdain untamed within cocaine dreams,
not my vision to part on agony of trembling nerves,
your choice of heart which riddles my mind to burst.

Paul Hickey
11-18-11

Blood-Red Dawn

This poem is about a tragic incident that occurred no more than 2 miles from my house. A disgruntled worker open-fired on co-workers killing three people and injuring nine others. After the shooting he was on the run in close by my place of residence for 24 hours before making a suicidal gesture and being gunned down in the driveway of a quiet resident neighborhood.

Pre-dawn hours fall upon lost horizons,
serenity fills the early morning air;
Not a soul has awakened from the quiet dark,
Not even the smallest of sounds had appeared.

Suddenly I am awoken to sounds of sirens screaming,
briefly my eyes open to acknowledge the noise;
I was thinking that maybe in reality I was dreaming,
I fell back down into sleep I enjoy.

Early light then surfaces, I rise awake and curious
to find what I heard to be a nightmare;
Real, haunting, and for miles around,
a city living in fear.

Blood-shed was further from our minds,
as we entered a new day of life;
Only skies were gray in more ways than one,
as tragic events unfolded near by.

His brain executed by truth or paranoia,
scars that played a brutal role;
Everyone believed to be after him now,
fire him, the ultimate goal.

Donning a stoned and emotionless face,
basking in hate that breeds;
He arrived for carnage of those who betray,
late, to slowly watch them bleed.

Entering the plant, a meeting taking place,
he strolls in without saying a word;
Pours a drink and circles the room,
then exits the building with hurt.

Without even a glance he walked straight to his car,
flipped open the trunk with his hands;
Reached into the back, pulled out a sack,
brandished a gun in his hand.

One-by-one he picked them off
with single bullets to the chest;
Packing more heat in the back of his car,
he vowed to finish off the rest.

Circling the room one more time
to assure everyone was dead;
First there was gun-fire followed by silence,
as survivors tried to keep their heads.

One survivor sprints for the door
to a near-by empty room;
Dials for assistance to end the gore,
as he watches the casualties zoom.

One-by-one, friend and such,
he cannot believe his eyes;
Blood on the walls, blood on the floor,
blood on a murderer's mind.

In a flash he starts to dash,
he hears the sirens roar;
Out to his car, as fast as he can,
leaving behind a bloody morgue.

Revs the engine, steps on the gas,
pulls out with a burning thunder;
Metal to the floor driving fast,
won't stop until he's six feet under.

Skies the limit as faster he goes,
taring past on-coming rescue;
With evil in his eyes, rampage on high,
irrationality symbolic of mood.

Rescue arrives to run inside,
horrific the scene they find;
Three dead with bullets in their chests,
with six more left to die.

A call made forth to threaten again,
static sounds possesses the speakers;
As he vows to come back to finish the job,
the volume on the radio gets weaker.

Meanwhile two long hours have passed
with no signs of a villainous stalker;
Then an alert comes in, there has been an attempt
to car-jack an innocent walker.

He struggled with her to control her car,
success would not prevail;
He shot her once in the leg and she fell,
as the assailant fled derailed.

As news came in, "a car-jacking had occurred,
a killer is on the loose";
Connections made near and afar,
similarities between the two.

SWAT teams quickly filled the areas,
searching for miles around;
As nightfall was quickly ascending on us,
not a single soul was found.

Helicopters overhead, canines chasing scent,
officers checking door-to-door,
on foot, how far could he have went;
As dark proceeded to blind the day,
rainfall at a halt;
Still not a face to place with hate,
he could be waiting to bolt.

Hours continued to pass us by
with no trace of human kind;
Deep into the fall of night
carnage left behind.

Stationed at every mandated post,
residential lights turned off;
Officers searching for a ghost
who has eluded every cop.

An empty house without any lights,
intruder hidden away;
It seems as though he's laying low
until the light of day.

No way out he makes his move,
as the sunlight shines it's rays;
Wedges himself between two cars,
when officers see his face.

Remembering of the day before,
blood spilled at the hands of a killer;
Officers proceed to raise their guns
with orders to surrender.

A suicidal gesture is made
pointing his weapon to his head;
Then he waves his gun at the cops,
in seconds he was dead.

Sighs of relief heard from around,
a madman has been shot dead in the streets;
Now a community can come together in silence,
to reflect on those who can no longer breathe.

Paul Hickey
11-17-11

Time Unlimited

This poem is about "Bipolar Disorder". This is a perfect example of taking a disorder and turning it into a poem to help me learn about the cause of the disorder, its symptoms, and treatment. There are two types of bipolar disorder. "Bipolar I Disorder", and "Bipolar II disorder". Bipolar I disorder tends to be the most potent one. In this disorder a person experiences manic episodes accompanied by a history of depressive episodes. He/or she may experience hallucinations/and or delusions and the disorder may mimic that of schizophrenia. It is the most potent of the two. In bipolar II disorder, he/she experiences hypo-manic episodes accompanied by a history of major depressive episodes. Bipolar II Disorder is less likely to have hallucinations/and or delusions resembling schizophrenia. I am just focusing on Bipolar Disorder as a whole in this poem.

Betwixt mad intervals of agile overzealousness and constant episodic despair
my mood unexpectedly bores the face of normality,
breathing like a human once more, alright but unsure;
I forth hold abilities to uncork words from vocals of my throat in a bloodless pace,
as my thoughts seize to race from start to finish,
my head clutching on in full grip, striving not to slip;
Violent shifts of destructive behavior, for time being ends,
as if never once interfering with consciousness,
triggering reactive blessedness.

"Unearthly predicament being portrayed,
earthly construction of my life delayed"!

Before knowledge of occurrence returns to enlighten this infectious disease
overtaking my personality,
again I am plagued with patchy actions of euphoria,
lasting for months!
Possibly for years!
Most likely for hours!
Leading into unwholesome days!
Of course going on for seconds!
 For minutes!
As obscurity changes to lucidity,
brightness to shade,
the time is unlimited!

Energy maximized to one's overextended, annihilated potential each episode appearing,
inflates probability of another session with dateless depression;
Overcast darkens sunlight commanding the months!
Rain outshines sun drowning the years!
Wind overpowers spring flowers arresting the hours!
Thunder becomes torturing sound secluding the days!
Lightning delivers supersonic strikes diminishing minutes to seconds!
I am petrified of my outlook,
the future looks dim!
Nothing I hear or see is regarded as lived!
As flaky moods live on tears are fought back, stimulation on the attack,
the time is unlimited!

Freedom from pestilence degraded, confusion stripping every living cell in my brain,
thus preparing me for more of the same;
Upended by the withered of vexation,
onward into further frenzied titillation,
as sterile nights exceed through dawn the adverse way;
Night to day!
Broad-light to evening!
Distress-fullness to a craze!
Eagerness to melancholia!
"Mind boggling, the brain has withdrawn from reality"!

Vertigo spins with immeasurable tasks, "can do"? "No do"!
And spears me with God-awful rights to surface again at any time.

"I am the star of the play; the only God in my life, leader in the strife",
unstoppable,
adorable,
"no one can even amount to the pulsating energy
I relay to the outer frame of my existence",
unpredictable,
indistinguishable

Then, if, and when, identity lowered occurs again, prosperity is weakened;
My spirit lays down to rest as fragments of me lean towards the spacey side of destiny;
I am defaced with powerful sense of denunciation;
I am useless! Forever, altogether worthless!
Life becomes a impotent thing,
I can't even see the silence it brings;
Madness and depression fall endlessly,
my essence follows relentlessly;
A friend in need is one to leave,
without them I no longer can compete;
No one on earth considers me,
I don't hesitate to release my disease.

                         "Weapon of sharpness, blood-waiting blade,
                            before me still, a nameless fate;
                            Shall it be me? Will it be them?
                            I must let go of this friction within!
                            Screaming cries erupt my mind,
                            I don't know if I'm dead or alive;
                            Manic Depression, mood deprivation,
                            depression accompanied by frequent flightiness;
                            Desecration seeking, it must be weakened
                            relieve me of my screaming;
                            Give me liberty, give me life,
                             help me throw away the knife;
                             End my fights, end my gloom,
                             free my life of this multiple wound".

Paul Hickey
11-17-11

Blade of the Knife

This poem is a suicidal poem. It implies a woman cheating on a man and the man is obsessing about being alone and thinking about his girlfriend in bed with another man. He feels left out and punishes himself internally. The result, slicing his wrists.

As I watch with the slightest temperament and rage,
     cold touching steel cuts through my veins;
Slowly it moves its way through my skin,
     faster and faster I think not to live.

I see them laying there side-by-side,
     while patiently sharpness slices my pride;
Thoughts of her all but asleep in his bed,
     leaves more to be more, I fade to be dead.

Each mourning minute appears a burial in life,
     everywhere I see the blade of the knife;
Here I find replacement of fear,
     end of me, end is near.

Soul to be blood dead in the wind,
    sink to the ground and hide from man;
Isolate tears and kill for my own,
    I blame you for my being alone.

Paul Hickey
11-14-11