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Mental Illness (baha!)

You know
We don’t like talking about it; your mind is hell.

Self diagnosed means NOT. The reason you won’t see a doctor is because you will be told just that. People with Bi-Polar, Manic Depression, Heroin Addiction, Ulcer Buttes of a Future, A Terror EVERYNIGHT, THROUGH IT AND WHAT MAKES YOU UP you or you or you WILL NEVER KNOW OR UNDERSTAND. NEVER. AND DONT. EVEN. TRY. ALL YOU DO IS BECOME ANOTHER LYING SCUMBAG FRIEND LOVER……… the point is. The pain I have inside will be with me until my last breath with a frosting layer of memory of this very moment of mentioning and you’ll see a smirk under the flat lining wave of my life’s surrendor. This isn’t a fucking poem. Fuck my fucking poems. My life hurts. I hurt. Down inside the depths you say you know.

Man. Downtown is making me cynical.

All I know is that this arcade fire generated thing that film music supervisors masturbate to…… What the fuck are you doing?! You’re just a card swiping machine.      

I’m gonna fucking take over culture
Because my pistol is loaded
And it’s 4am.        And have come to a juncture. Do or don’t. The you I speak of here is                 it doesn’t matter now
Because I win now.       I fucking win
   Never shall never.           You’re not minding meds if you start a blog about your little shit.     Two read it. On accident.

You are not helping a specimen on Uranus                   itchitch

About Brian Anthony Hardie

artist, musician, and poet from Portland, Oregon.

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