depression

Callum Featherstone

Cracks in the ceiling

The cracks in the ceiling

Make a frowning face

of this house

Leaving a mark

Like the joy that you’re stealing

When hatred spews from your mouth

But we find light in the dark.

Find the light…

In the cracks of the ceiling

In the lines of your face

As you smile through the feelings

Of dread and disgrace.

Though you might

find fear

In the cracks of the ceiling

And find

the end is near

As you smile

through those feelings…

Feel you’re

Just so out of place.

Try to find the light.

Find yourself in the cracks

Plug them whole with your strength

And love one another

to great length

Find yourself in the smiles

Make happiness your self-pact.

Cause those cracks in the ceiling

Are rainfall of sorrow – drowning

Awash with feelings you dread

But when it’s someone else flailing instead

You’ll find those cracks

Can be filled up with care

And kindness;

both buoyant and healing.

When someone else’s house is frowning

And spirit drowning

Don’t let that sorrow seep in

Use your compassion.

Be there.

Plug the cracks with your love.

Fill your house with that love.

Build each other with love.

Lovingly,

Build one another up.

Callum Featherstone

The Poisoned Note

Your mind is the pen.

It’s razor sharp. It’s poignant. It’s a tipped point dipped in poison and from it the words which you write inside your mind stain every nerve with sorrow and despair.

Your body is the paper.

Paper which is cut from the original tree that all knowledge and sense first grew from. From deepest root to budding leaf the cursed, bubbling venom courses through each bodily cell and ruptures and dissolves all that is decent and good.

This is depression.

A poisoned note.

A note which throughout your life becomes volumes of lethargy, melancholy and pain.

And, a note from which you discover the true reality of existence.

And, to think, without this note, would you have ever truly existed at all?

For, it is better to have felt that poisoned ink blemish your body and mind than to have left a blank note.

Your note defines you.

Your note is one worth sharing because we are all noteworthy.

The greatest gift you will ever have is to have written a poisoned note so long and live to tell the tale.

Callum Featherstone

Icarus

Do not bank on a lifesaver

Coming second, first or third

As tall and looming cabers

Scrape skies – hurried and absurd.

Tossed alongside shining sabre

Toothed-Tiger looking herds

They are timid after taming.

And self-righteous bees and birds

Practice surreptitious-slut-shaming

In a world of wizened words

Reduced fruitfully like raisins.

The acorn may be small

But it’s endeavour grows so mighty

From it’s branches to it’s trunk.

And the flock’s morning call

Along with wings so fit and flighty

Launch from their wooden bunk.

Just as Icarus looked down on all

Mankind’s eyes are blinded brightly

By a couping Parliament; whose ship has sunk

To a depth that Devils dare to fall

Which constricts forever tightly.

And makes – a fake of the monk.

Callum Featherstone

Dove of Peace

From a room inside your mind

Never mind the lack of room

As the room you hope to find

On the inside of your head.

Because outside that vital place

Is without you, no longer vital

Because within yourself is grace

And outwardly your wings to spread.

Misunderstood so lately

And often only by yourself

But to others matters greatly

Through your justness dearly held.

You put your trust in others

And they only let you down

But you rode the lonely buffers

Without a grimace or a frown.

And you stand before the world

Knowing your true self post-defame

And you tamed the downward spiral, swirl

Understood your self and name.

Callum – dove of peace

Peaceful dove that hopes to give

Enough at least to teach

How understanding helps us live.

Callum Featherstone

Masquerade

You look in the mirror

And see

See too much

See their mistreatment

See your failures

See it all but don’t want to.

You look in the mirror

You like it for once

And then you feel

Shame for being vain

Shame for thinking about you

Shame for even thinking. Just

Shame.

When smashing the mirror –

the smithereens –

make a realisation –

all of it was a façade =

a masquerade in glass.

Because the broken pieces

Make a broken person and

Broken people can only dream of being whole.

Callum Featherstone

A sinking feeling

The ever swelling sea

Is a discomfort blanket sloshing

Whispers woe by telling me,

“Innocent bodies will need washing.”

The rain clouds dark and dusky

Frown upon each town and city

With a thunderous tone so husky

Pitter patter has turned to pity.

Breaking banks without a penny

Snaking slalom; this rising river

Floods the hearts and souls of many

Destructive venom is delivered.

Questions for those with plenty…

Your thirst is quenched –

What remains?

A glass half full?

Or just empty?

As loss asphyxiates the gains.

Callum Featherstone

Myope

A vision:

Telecommunication from beyond the subconscious.

A message so clear it’s seen as obnoxious.

And as vivid in the mind as a car crash collision.

A warning:

Coalescing deep down within your psyche.

Killing love with a spike through Aphrodite.

On a tempestuous December morning.

Mud in the eyes of a colourless scene.

Blood on the thighs of a motherless dream.

But, still you refuse to see.

Callum Featherstone

Inevitability

The ever impending doom that is death lingers over us on a daily basis. We are reminded constantly of what it is to be human, and, what it is to be mortal, despite our best efforts to duck, dodge and dive away from the ageing process. Whether it be an early, mid or late life crisis, they all boil down to the same sediment and sentiment.

That we are born and in doing so we must eventually die.

And when you really think about it; the futility of life that is, it is deeply frightening.

At one point or another we will all experience this thought:

“I am just a grain of sand in an ever expanding universe that will have zero impact on history whatsoever. I will be forgotten just the same as everyone who has ever lived, and everyone whoever will live.”

And this is totally normal. Terrifying, but normal.

Most people combat these negative feelings through distraction. This is a good idea seeing as the feeling of insignificance is incredibly unpleasant.

Inevitably distraction is a key part of what it is to be human.

Equally, so is mortality.

The irony being that a distraction from the inevitable only brings that inevitability closer towards you.

I would argue that it is always better to embrace the inevitable.

Now don’t get me wrong. It would be unwise to ruminate on the fragility of existence constantly because ultimately this would cause strong feelings of depression and/or anxiety. I do, however, believe that it is good to come to terms with your fate. In doing so you will defeat fear itself and unlock your true potential to live.

My very simple advice would be as follows;

Live in the moment rather than the past.

Seize the day rather than worry about the future.

Remember that life is futile but you don’t have to be.

Die living. Don’t live dying.

Ultimately the chance of you being created is around 1 in 400 trillion. So, why waste it?

Death is inevitable. Life, however, is not.

Callum Featherstone

Greedy guts

A glimmer

A memory of a memory

The flash of a camera bulb

As the anorexic chance gets slimmer.

Forgotten

Yesterday’s news is buried treasure

And X barks the dog

And the dog eats itself; rotten.

Avarice

Is devouring a banquet feast

Set out in front of a rough sleeper

Too famished to throw a fist.

Cupidity

Hunting with arrows for more

Material or maniacal power prêt à manger

Sustained solely by stupidity.

Callum Featherstone

Requiem

Remembering; slumber.

A forgotten number.

The subtraction

of dreamy interaction.

An ever-falling bungee jumper.

Remembering; rest.

De-stress? Distressed.

Unanswered calls

by sunken eyeballs.

To close their quest.

Remembering; peace

Of mind. At ease.

Stood at attention

for every mention

of failure to sleep.

Remembering; dreams.

Coins in a fountain gleam.

Now each and every

are but a memory.

Copper tears that stream.