Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
labyrinths Feb 2015
is the illuminati real?
was 9/11 an inside job?
are we in love?

i keep saying "i don't know" like it's the only thing i do know - maybe i don't have the right answer but i've thought about it just as much as you think about glittery pink nails and tiny red bikinis on the beach in the middle of the day

do aliens live among us?
does reincarnation exist?
are we in love?

and maybe i don't know but i do know more than i don't know like the way you sent me that picture and said i was cute or the way the sky blinks at night a little too suspiciously to be a star. i know the names of all the planets and i know how to kiss like i'm in love

is there a God?
is the fluoride in our water harmful?
are we in love?

but I don't even know what the other side of the country looks like, let alone the other side of the world and i know a little but you know so much more and i don't know why someone so small needs someone so strong but i also don't know what it looks like to die.

is our fate decided for us?
what are they hiding in area 51?
are we in love?

when you look at me i feel like i could tell stories until my teeth cut through my lips and my tongue is bleeding from talking so much. it might not be love but it's blood pumping through my veins and working brain cells and beat beating against my rib cage, sweaty palms in the fear that you'll hold them, the fluctuation of a lifeline, you are my hospital waiting room where most of the people don't have to be there and go home. in a room full of hypochondriacs, i am the biggest one of all, diagnosing myself with a broken heart

was the moon landing staged?
how much does the government keep from us?
are we in love?
lol
Sarah Rodriguez Dec 2014
My friends a hypochondriac,
doctor twice a week.
He looks so strong and burly,
but feels so sick and meek.

He heard there is a cure out there,
that heals what ails him so.
I just don't have the heart to tell him,
he's taking a placebo.

My friend is big and mighty,
and the sugar pills do work.
He says he's never sick now,
no aches, and nothing hurts.

I'm happy for him, really,
though I wish he'd known much sooner,
that sugar pills have what it takes,
to heal the kids of boomers.

Our parents taught us to be weary,
as they had had no means,
to heal themselves in the time of war,
when they were all just teens.

But times have changed, and we can now,
heal most every sickness.
But still there are hypochondriacs,
needing sugar to cure weakness.
kenye Mar 2013
Short and sweet
like the life of the diabetic

We're all hypochondriacs
To the human conditioning

We've been taught
to be themselves
not ourselves.

No child left behind while evolution is staggering
Tripping our own feet divided by class systems 
Get off my lawn

They're still asking,
"where do you see yourselves in 5 years?"
and I still don't know,
this short-term impulse control needs to learn longevity
but really I'm working on my punk rock opera
Ek May 2018
It happened early one morning.
It happened like it always does,
times 3.

Strapped, armed, holding hands
what every loving mother
shouldn't do.

Word of it traveled
like the winter flu,
by noon everybody had heard

of maniacal faithers
who took home her children
lighting up fireworks.

The sun blazed dazedly
evaporating 3 crosses,
not quite melting the ice.

Until it reached my porch step,
it were but distant voices.
now it's here

and real. like it always is of course

but now it's closer than ever
bursting at my door.

Sliced up like a juicy tomato
his screams are muffled by
a screen screening bright information

into the heads of mouths
who offer surreal commentary
disguised as jokes.

We're terrified.
We're hypochondriacs fearing
contamination of a rampant

plague.
A plague we've never seen before.
Our ****** eyes.

So many have already
been ***** by fate.
Faith in fatherly beards

granting wishes to
obedient children
who go tarnishing other fathers' gardens.

What an absurd world
where IS is ice that
cannot melt.

What an absurd world
where children weep
at mothers' debt.

What an absurd world
where faithful supremity
reigns unchecked.
Laura Dodds Feb 2016
Living a hypochondriacs dream,
Because my pain is one that is real.

Everyone says I'm fine,
But I know my own body because my body is mine,
Life developing as a double exposure,
In two places at once and contained in a tight enclosure,
Here I am with no sense of closure,

I will dream of running away,
Throwing my possessions away,
Put my worry to rest,
Before I am the one put to rest.
Sean Aug 2012
And I feel this sludge
running down the long halls of my legs
a flood of viscous petrol jelly
slick sewage sick
patrolling artery walls

this metallic slide
so much molten lava
running down the mountains
of my thighs.

I'm a concrete machine
getting my mortar fix
tin woman hollow heart
methyl folate ******

Give me another hit
buffer my pain.  
Already I have diesel fuel juice
leeching out my tissues
lightning striking the brain.

It's hard to get your attention
with this leavening
pooling the blood in my feet
It's hard to say hello with
acid cuddled words.
I want to raise my arms
and touch you
but I'm too toxic I'll burn you.

This nausea has become me
this metabolic crash is
my stop-gap.
Short circuit pain
this neuropathy has hardened me
in the space between these synapses
I dream of nothing.

Doped up by the yellow stuff
Daddy sprays from the plane
I was a farmer's daughter but
the doctor says
You've got the mutant gene,
for heavy metal toxicity.

Another serotonin addict
with brains of saccharine and plastic
I might get a pink ribbon for surviving
if they call it disease,
but silently, inside

I feel this sludge
sick sewage slick
battening down the reflexes
backing up the pipes.

my body is the future body
I say.
because this deadly brigade
is eating up the human chain.

There were Chernobyl defects,
and the media loves lepers with lesions
but a blistered stillborn baby
is no face for nuclear policy

but we --we're the unsung mutant breed--
there are billions of us
mentally sick lazy *****,  
hypochondriacs
of pre-existing conditions
can't find work
not even at Walmart
for disability aid--

But when you check out,
please donate.

Drop another baby
in the cancer cup.
agdp Jan 2010
Conjure belief where assurance
is easily tempted from doubt.

The physical world acts on
a point to point basis
of action, reaction.

Where the genesis of relativity
as the golden rule
mediates the knowledge
that is perpetuated by irony
through circumstance
and the accidental
incidental coincidences
that bend time.

Symmetry is a natural motion of
consistency, extending from an apex
or midlines, transverses, logarithmic expressions
all from some single origin.

The palms of our hands
are textual markings
of our need for symbolic understanding
in the variances
we create for scientific observation.

Juxtaposed to the stars we created
circular pieces to a wheel in the sky
we hypochondriacs believe
to superimpose as vaccines,
to our inconsistencies we host
as symbiotes
for inverse proportionality.

From the signal, beat, tone,
and definitive sounds
is the pulse of our momentum,
a return to equilibrium.
12/9/09 ©AGDP- From Human Elements
Simon Soane Nov 2013
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like hells bells miss ringers,
Like bringers miss takers,
Like ******* miss fakers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the good fellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like  the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
I miss everything.
Tommy Johnson Oct 2015
Is life imitating art or is art imitating life?
Eventually there will be nothing left to hide
Save your sorrys  
It's time for me to cool your mind and tell you it's all alright
We're the pop-up's on your phone screen
Sending you little blurbs
Memes are funny because they're true
At least to you
You're the hypochondriacs
Who convinced yourselves you need to be healed
With a numbness cure by posts that make you feel

There will be a new one, if you like the last
Is life imitating art or is art imitating life?
Eventually there will be no where left to hide
Save your sorrys  
It's time for me to cool your mind and tell you it's all alright
This is a beat generation
But with less respect but way more dope
The question is "why should I?"
Our answer is always "I don't know"
We're yesterdays news and tomorrows punchline
Never even had chance
Self-entitlement won't ease the situation
Of our need for instant gratification

I need a drink in my system to take off the edge
I need a lie to make me feel safe
I have an axe in my skull splitting my brain
Is it me or the world who's insane?
Upload, like, follow
Reblog, comment, unfollow
What's hot is hot now but not tomorrow
Will your words hold up or drop out?
       -Tommy Johnson
Darvay Jul 2015
In a world where we had it all,
There was absent fathers and hypochondriacs for mothers all around,
Maybe I could be normal one day,
I thought such stupid things all to myself.

Thinking back none of this was my fault,
But the one who points blame gets their finger cut off,
And I've learned to not speak unless spoken to,
After all this time are you even proud of me?
What do I have to prove to get through to you?

All these pretty little pills,
They're the only thing that matters,
They were there when you weren't,
And admittingly I need them to get me through the days,
It was hard to say the least,
Such a lack of control,
But it's all okay,
can you just put your trust into me,
I promise the children are as fine as can be.

How can I rebuild hopelessness,
When we're all so hopelessly hopeful?
Picking at our scabs like their nothing,
And I know in the most dismal of days my heart will sink down into my stomach,
I know this so why do we pretend that everything is just going to be fine.

It's never gonna be okay I see this now,
The forecast is pain and suffering,
I've learned to accept this so why can't you just fake a pretty little smile?
And now I'm even alright when I know I'm not..

The children are crying their ******* eyes out,
Self medicating with these pretty little pills in their mouths,
And before it all goes south and I put this gun in my mouth,
Paint my thoughts all over the walls,
Well I just want to preserve the person I made myself out to be,
The one who makes it through the day,
So no one forgets how strong I can be!
Self medicating, bad upbringing and an angst that only cripples me.
Joseph Sinclair Oct 2014
The problem with hypochondriacs
Is that they outlive the rest of us.
"I can’t last long"
You'll hear them swear
But just like tax they’re always there.
It's not really poetry - at least by my standards - but I woke up this morning with the thought in mind and quickly committed it to paper.
Simon Soane Jun 2016
I miss you like maps miss fingers,
Like mikes miss singers,
Like bells miss ringers,
Like cakes miss bakers,
Like lakes miss boats,
Like bad swimmers miss floats,
Like politicians miss votes,
Like doting parents miss school plays,
Like nymphomaniacs miss lays,
Like necrophiliacs  miss graves,
Like hypochondriacs miss prescriptions,
Like ****** misses addictions,
Like carpets miss friction,
Like Billy Bunter misses midnight feasts,
Like the grim reaper misses grief,
Like Henry misses the goodfellas,
Like sand sculptures miss umbrellas,
Like Rubix cube devotees miss puzzles,
Like rabid dogs miss muzzles,
Like Van Gough missed his brushes,
Like speed freaks miss rushes,
Like pens miss paper,
Like the Mona Lisa missed Pater,
Like the canvas misses the creator,
Like how the thirsty miss water,
Like the hungry miss food,
Like ***** miss the lewd,
Like the mind misses mood,
Like the tides miss the moon,
Like the sane miss the loons,
Like the dark misses the light,
Like the brave miss the fright,
Like the kite misses the wind.
Like a phone misses a ring
Like every misses thing.
Joseph Sinclair Apr 2022
Neurotics talk to their analysts,
Sinners talk to their priests
Hypochondriacs visit their doctors
Writers write.
😭👿

SOLD TO SATAN

(After seeing malpractices in medicine, sitting at a multi clinic, I am writing this, with a plea to all the medical practitioners, to please introspect)

Sold my soul I have to the Satan, once I had, a huge entrance amount given, to a doctor become

Now, for treatment, all the rich, the gullible, those frightened hypochondriacs, I warmly welcome.

For rich I have to become, after recovering my expenses huge, to cover up what I spent; that enormous sum !

With wrong, fancy or even frightful diagnosis, I frighten patients; and unnecessarily even operate upon some.

With my malpractices,  Satan very helpful n cooperative is, n encourages me, to richer by the day become.

Alas, a dedicated professional, one who should be respected next to God, how very commercial has now become !

By misleading the ill n those in dire need of a cure; from a God loving n serving the ill n poor people, I have today, a devil become.

Dear God, will You please forgive me, if I change to a good, kind doctor n a human being become?

Armin Dutia Motashaw
kevin Jun 3
The familiar contempting of favors in adult labors by social workers or social workings

No reason to do jobs, just play that is that and achieve the great American bye gone success

Meanwhile outside of the boxcar children hobo america stares at the cement gravesite gifts?????

Homeless reservations for indoors difficult????  Wilma???

Chump chump dance besides the calm stream tragedies we can't save

Call at Denmark John

He's signing news declarations

End silent capture scene random


The wrong brothers are at it again

Rear prayer planes (pain face)

And buses

Kendall and Kevin give up
Blanket day

The hypocratic hypochondriacs of the turning point foundation
A soldier and his post brand

He's on drug rehab are where it's at

In the economic conundrums of the cities populace I prefer to watch the pirrohuett Kendall

Mental oblivion to alternative means and do process this

Obstructionist are on calendar lights out

Now on to he other Side of crying street


The policing of sunshines


Remember to smart the *** you have in mind to exhuberant the he haw channel


You know Taylor when they told us about how people are vying the stairways to heaven

People can only imagine the worst possible experience of their owning life for all of us.

— The End —