Some of you (most of you) may not know that I am bipolar. I am. Depending on where my mood is, my writing takes on drastic flavors. Here is one such flavor.
Note: I do not write things like this to ask for help. I have help. I have an amazing support system. Rather, I’m trying to destigmatize mental illness one poem / story at a time. Enjoy.
At the bottom, they say
Kill kill kill kill.
At the top, they fill minds
With fantasies and plans and
Doubts and doubts and doubts and
Desire and lust and
Rage and rage and rage and
Shaking and trembling and
Cold and cold and cold
Until the only sure thing is the
Wine glass, crushed in a fist.
Shard-spiked flesh focuses the mind.
Blood-battered floor focuses the eyes.
Stem protrudes through the back of hand,
A crimson bone of crystal.
Platform flush with the palm,
A finite disk of positive charge sucked against skin,
Slave to the infinite law of attraction.
© Copyright by Syndal
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