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Poems by Carol Batton |
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Weed I'm a
weed, disabled Even
though I'm mad,
Psychiatric Pills It's
only got one side effect, You
really must give it a try. It's
only got one side effect, It makes you want to die.
Safety
Money is the best insulating material.
Subterranean Living Under the DSS
Hell
is Fine Lit
by tiny candles Water
from the DSS above drips randomly down - I cannot be sure of my candles
staying lit. The
ceiling is made of impenetrable denial, weakened in places by
implausibility. There
is no wind, or rain, to worry about. But
there is no sun either. I
plan next year's pacing: this year I plan the pacing, which I am
definitely (Next time) going to do. I must do something with my death. I
hear the 'Too-Late' prayers of the doomed dead, (Repentance past the
sell-by date). We are crushed at random, by the
'Lack-of-benefits-system'…dripped on, one by one until it is our own
turn to get soaked in the cold. It's
cold as hell, in hell…let no one say it is hot. They've cut back the
heating on which the myth is based. Actually
they tell you it's perfectly warm…They're right, but not if one has not
eaten all day. The
boredom - one gets used to it. But not the loneliness. The loneliness just
gets more desperate, with the inescapable dripping, squeezing the
camaraderie - friendliness needs sufficiency. I
waste my time like some criminal in jail…guilty of unemployment. A
'Parasite' they say. There
is no clock…I find clocks painful…still I wish I hadn't destroyed it. The
tunnels leading off are open to me, but it is understood they are
forbidden to us. So
I crouch by the nearest candle…it has been like this for many years. The
little candle. That drip is very near that little light… a flicker of
excitement - at the threat…but no, I've moved the candle to yet another
safer place …where 'Splot', a big blob of water - puts it out. 'You'll
have to refer to the DSS for a grant to relight it': I forgot my hunger.
The DSS is an impregnable well-lit office, on floor three. There are still
some other candles and while five candles should not be despair - I
cried. I
was hungry, I was cold, I was wet (but of course), and not making use of
my death very well. They
relit the candle after two months disagreement -but he was not happy. They
blew it out again. Hell is fine, said the memo from above the DSS, on floor six.
Veggie One
must go cold turkey When
going veggie Or
maybe, cold lentil Is gentler.
Stage If
I were on stage again, You'd
clap. It
is only when I'm In
need Of
help, You
say, "attention
seeking", and walk off.
Choices They
ask how I want The
new buildings, They
put me on the User's Group… We
are holding a kitty, of £200, And
we're installing a small Hearing
loop. They
tell me, to take empowerment, They
ask, how I want my cup of tea? But
the Stelazine - Well
I have no choice… I have to take it at three.
The Plant It's
gone a most beautiful shade of browny-red. And it's dead.
Short
Description of Manic Depression 1.
Save the World. 2.
"I can't do it". 3. "Let's kill myself".
Disabled You
deny us work, And
give us money, It's
almost Equality
Relax… There
is absolutely Nothing
the Psychiatrist
can do! So
take off your Slippers,
forgive Yourself, and cry!
Another "The Pills" Poem I
say it makes me miserable, She
says, "That cannot be" I
say that I am certain, (but
so is she) She
says "So say the drug firms, And
they have done research" I
say "They make the profit." She
says I am psychotic, She
says that I can't know these things And
cannot be believed, She says I'm being awkward, and should take more of these.
Too sad to kill myself On
major tranquillisers I don't Kill
myself… I don't do Anything at all.
How?? How
can I hope for world peace, When
I can't get you to say, "Hello" In
the streets.
Note:
Carol Batton is happy about you using these poems as long as you
acknowledge her authorship.
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