“Pedants Society Meeting Here”
The sign on the door
read
“Every Sunday at four”
“Well not here exactly
here”
The sign below added
“But in the room
behind this door”
“Pedants Society Meeting Here”
The sign on the door
read
“Every Sunday at four”
“Well not here exactly
here”
The sign below added
“But in the room
behind this door”
The thing that gives me anxiety
Are people reading my stories
But even worse than that are
People not reading my stories
The habitually disappointed support group
Had good reason to
bellyache
As their meeting had
been cancelled
And as a result, there
would be no cake
I suffer from kleptomania
I have to admit
But when it gets bad,
I take something for
it
Are you wearing a straightjacket?
With wrap around
sleeves and metal bands
Are you some kind of
homicidal maniac?
Or do you suffer from
wondering hands
If you keep randomly shouting out
“Broccoli” or
“Cauliflower”
Have no regrets
It’s not something you
can’t really help
Because it just means
You suffer from
florets
There is a short circuit
In the wiring of my
brain
Which torments me
until
I have Equilibrium
again
But I’m unravelling
Like a ball of twine
An unwilling victim
Of my malicious mind
Medication will help
To redress my
rationality
But it dulls the knife
edge
Of my personality
I cannot believe that my
Next door neighbour
Is a self-harmer
She's so vile there
Must be queue of
people
Willing to do it for
her
I have very low self esteem
And live with low
expectations
And to make matters
worse
I'm terrible at
self-deprecation
I believe it’s quite normal
Listening to them is
usual
Sometimes I argue instead
However, if I were to
lose
The argument, I’d be
dead
I sit with a mirror straight ahead of me
And another
one placed behind me
So, my
image is repeated in perpetuity
That way I
don’t feel so lonely
If life is getting you down
And depressing you increasingly
Take all of your troubles
And toss them into the sea,
You don’t have to do
it for real
Just do it
metaphorically
But a trip to the
beach
Will help you
miraculously
My brother has been seeing a psychiatrist
He pays one hundred
pounds a time
And he’s been doing it
for bloody years
I think he must be out
of his tiny mind
My dad thinks he’s a chocolate orange
I don’t know if I’ve
mentioned
And we have come to
the decision
That we should have
him sectioned
One in four women in this country
Are on meds
for mental illness
So, the rest
are running around
Undiagnosed
more or less
When the tragic death
Was announced on the
news
Of the Oscar winning
actor
My wife didn’t have a
clue
Which prompted her to
say
Philip Seymour who?
There is a pill, that I take a lot
I take it when I don’t
feel so hot
I knew the name but
then I forgot
And the nameless pill
I take a lot
Tells me I'm happy
when I'm not
I do mental arithmetic
When I’m lying in my
bed
I like to count the
voices
I hear inside my head
I have been diagnosed with depression
But I won’t let it
beat me
I have been on the
Internet
And I’ve found the
treatment for me
It’s the 18 step plan
And I start on the
first tee