D. B. DEVILLIERS

Poetry

Tag: mental illness

Gratuitous And Ill-Advised Exposure Of Vulnerability, or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love My Mood Disorder

Well we can start off with an apology
I’m sorry about my manic depressive affections
you’ve found as others have before you that those
quirks you once enjoyed eventually irritate
and then enrage
and now you kind of know how I feel about them
a borderline love we had
a flash in the pan misfire oops
and it makes me angry and it makes me sad but
you’ve got to keep trying
otherwise well
and it can help sometimes to sit at a typewriter and
seek validation that way
and it can hurt sometimes too but hey habit’s habit
we do what we will do and what we’ve always done
now that’s a little fatalistic don’t you think
yeah well
and what else would I write about I wonder
but of course if I could I’d give all of these goddamned
words back if I could if I could
not understand them but you can’t do that there’s
no cure for it and I know that it makes me hard to
invest yourself in
or rather just very risky
not sure anyone’s ever gotten a return
depends on what qualifies as such
and the platen on this thing’s gotten many a beating as a result
poor thing all those little hammer blows they’ve gotta hurt
this piece of paper too must be having a bad time
oh well you are what you’re made for
dee bee devilliers the fatalist again
and what was he made for
different kinds of hammer blows I suppose
and then that’s the nice and terrible thing about time
you sure can get used to it
you sure can get used to it.

All Week Even

gonna sit here and try and
think of something clever to
write about but the
words don’t come for a change and so I
write about how the words won’t
come for a change and it’s just not very clever
since what do you say when you don’t think
since what do you think when you don’t feel
shame since if I could write something it’d
make me feel better
usually does
then again I’ve had two cups of coffee and though I am now
unemployed again and not especially happy I am no longer
hungover every goddamned waking moment and
though I don’t enjoy things very much at all
it turns out that I so very much would like to remain here
on this earth alive and all anyway
so I suppose that’s enough complaining for one afternoon
and there’s another halfway meta-poem by
remarkably unremarkable self-styled poet xx xxxxxxxxxx
thank you ladies yes I will be here all day.

How To Go To Work/The Security Standards In Heaven Are Pretty Lax

you get drunk pass out you suffer from
menial problems you become
enraged at the broken dryer and
now you don’t have clothes to wear to work
you wear them anyway gotta have a job
your hands and feet tingle from a lack of
circulation this is a new development you
wonder from which poor decision this has most
probably stemmed
you drive in anyway
your shaky fingers stumble to punch in but you do and
you know from which poor decision exactly this
problem has stemmed
condition upgraded to functional
or downgraded as the case may be
you stand there and you have nothing to say
and hello good morning how are you
you say hello and good morning anyway and I am uh
good thanks how about you
it’s one of those days isn’t it
why yes it is except no one says it and you never say it can’t
show weakness now and even though you don’t know why and
even though you always are
and this was gonna be a happy poem but I guess
life isn’t that
but hell I ain’t dead yet
and when I am I’m gonna
stand up tall
take a good pull
draw down on Saint Peter
right there outside of paradise and
kick the fucking door in.

Let’s Go Swimming Together Forever

And I’ll run run run away quit my job not
even quit go on break drive off again never call I’ll
do it again and again why doesn’t this all fit
together why can’t I make it fit why doesn’t
it fit what the fuck is wrong with me does it
fit anyone or do we all just kind of go
on unfitting and some people either stop
noticing or always or sometimes notice and just deal with
it but why can’t I just do that why am I always
thinking about it the unfitting maladjustment guess
given my decision making I’m not doing myself any
favors and but I can’t help but think somewhere there
must be some individual specimen of primitive
organism recently evolved to breathe air that gets
tired of breathing air and walks back into the ocean
and that’s more me than I am but here I am
still breathing air.

Lazarus Sort Of Story Maybe Except I’m Decidedly No Saint

I don’t think about it much anymore
which is probably a healthy thing
nice day though it was
clear day, air crisp, chilly
and I probably shouldn’t even put my name on this because
a lot of people just don’t understand
they can’t
I envy them a little for that
the road to the lake was clothed with dead leaves
I walked there
not far
as fine a fall day as any no doubt
and for a fact the water was freezing
even after a fifth of scotch it surprised me just how cold
cold enough I was pretty certain
cold enough I hoped
cold enough
and indeed it probably was
I don’t remember much from then on
on account of I lost consciousness
til I was in the ambulance
then I sort of half regained it
which ambulance arrived timely like
otherwise I don’t think you’d be reading this poem
or any poem by me for that matter
my recall here is pretty hazy
consider after all the fifth of scotch
a seventeen year old can’t usually really have tolerance enough to manage that
turns out a woman walking her dog past the lake made the call
and happily for me
I didn’t die
but in some strange way I think I was born and
baptized in that frigid water
I believe that day
for the first time
I learned something about myself
and I do believe
five years eleven months and
twenty seven days ago
for the first time in my life
I lived

I’m glad for that
that I lived

and if I’m some kind of a shitty drunken Lazarus
and the paramedics are Jesus Christ
then I still owe him $562
and I’m not gonna pay him.

Shouting

I don’t know if you can hear me but I’m shouting
I don’t know if you know this but
I’m trying this is a
new town a new place a new outlook a new
poem new eyes new this is a new car
this is new
this is an attempt
this is effort
this is killing me
this is slow death
this is me subverting a stereotype
this is where I do that
this is where I actively show weakness to people I don’t know
these are the problems of a man you wouldn’t like
this is how you ink a fountain pen
this is killing me
this is how you finish a liter of liquor in one short sitting
this is how you lose your mind
this is how
you can trust me I ought to know
this is how you think you’re worth it
this is how you write stilted verses on your
phone at three thirty in the
morning this is how many
milligrams you take and this
is how much you drink afterwards to
feel like at least tonight your
blood pressure probably won’t
rupture your eyes this is how you
take a deep breath and come back into
lower orbit this is how you think you’re
not batshit for a fleeting fucking
instant this is how you meet
new people this is how you
embarrass yourself this is
how you justify it this is how you
become unconscious
this is how you derive hope
this is how you lose your mind
this is how
this is killing me
I don’t know if you
can hear me but I’m
shouting.


It’s not so bad as it sounds.

Eighteen Words (Of Course It Isn’t Enough)

You left no note
but the rope
didn’t know
it was a cry
for help
and it held.


I’m sorry. I’m sorry it was you. I’m sorry it was anyone. If there were something I could have done, I wish I’d have done it. I hope there’s some peace to be found over there. I hope you’ve found it.

I really hope.

Predictable Outcomes/It Didn’t It Couldn’t She Couldn’t Who Could No One

This will never work
of course
this is true because I already believe
it to be true but even
if I didn’t it
wouldn’t work

because I can’t change
or at least I’ve not yet
been able to change and
I have little
faith that I ever
will

I am not a happy man
I am not good at making other people
happy
how could I?
how could I even know how?
if I am anything it’s
sad
deeply deeply sad
for reasons beyond me
or maybe not, maybe I know why
but if I do
it doesn’t matter anyway so
please
fuck
save me if you can
but I know you can’t
and I’m so sorry.

I’m so sorry.


It doesn’t matter please don’t think it matters it wasn’t it wasn’t you it wasn’t your fault

Glamorous Drunken Poem Re: Clinical Depression—Merit Badge Of Writers Since Time Immemorial

I’m almost nearly drunk enough to write
so write I shall—
it’s strange
well not really
but it’s that time of year
when I breathe smoke and the
dormant shivering skeletal trees loom
and no matter that things are
going exceedingly well for me as of late
no matter
no matter
because it’s in my blood
or so they say
I wish it weren’t so
but in any case
there’s no hope
it doesn’t matter
even if there were hope
I’d die
die die
die
it doesn’t matter
it doesn’t
matter
these things end one way
I feel nothing but anger or at least I feel it
in the way that despair manifests
as anger
never been an angry man
but here I am
becoming what I never was
and always will be
these words mean nothing
even to me
just drunken non-meaning
because maybe I’ll live
and be happy someday
right
or maybe I’ll die and
never be
and still
it won’t matter.

It always comes
in the fall
the cynicism the dark fucking
turn of my goddamned
broken mind
and all I can do is write it
or what would I do
what would
I
do.

I’ll get past it, I will
I always have but still
I wish this was good
I really do
but it isn’t
and that’s the very very
best I can
do.