Might have overreacted a bit on this one. Being certified bipolar is a lot similar to being two years old. I may look like a robot most of the time but I got big big feelings and they swing with the momentum of a wrecking ball. The apocalypse happens quick and the world crumbles until I get 5 minutes to sit down, catch my breath and have a snack and then don’t you know the good guys have won again play the happy music. Life is a rollercoaster on its own but someone don’t forgot to buckle me in. It’s a lot easier to laugh at yourself when you can astral project and see just how much of a dumbass you are. Sorry and here is a poem I wrote when I had a bad dream:
Mercy
Bad dream
Or let it be
Lord
Have mercy on me
Take my hand
Lift me on your shoulders
Cradle me and
Rock
I’m tired
Drained and emptied
And refilled with despair
My steps are wet concrete
And my eyes burn of acid
And I could try and say
Any number of poetic things
But I just want to lie
Face down
Or to have someone carry me
Just for a little bit
Stand me up
Show me what to do
I’ve been doing this myself
For so long
And I’ve broken down my brain
Beyond recognition
Where is the ground
Maybe I’m being dramatic
For a bad dream
You ever been pinched
For long enough
To feel the world ending
Maybe I’m thrashing and flailing
For just a little hurt
Maybe I’m just calling uncle
For a day or a week
For the rest of my life
Ease up
Please and fuck you
Enough
Skydekkerix 