I
made a cunt of myself for no real reason that spike through my heart the faulty adrenal gland sending acidic transmissions through my mind and body I could tear my skin off, fuck!
I spiralled
on terrible trajectories Like that
moth in the bathroom on its fatal last flight an
elongated spasm racked and viciously
surged
the
reckless head load of poison acrid
in my mouth my words have cancer cutting words, killing words no balance attenuated no reason attempted all passive strategy lies in wait for the unwary then pounces ferocious Into the maelstrom, fuck you! fuck you!
and fuck you too
I’ll smash
your face in eat your entrails for
breakfast tear the stars from their
sockets and grind them to dust don’t come home I started a fight and damaged my being with psychotic clubs
.
Wow! You know, we hear the word bipolar and we think we understand. I didn't; I wasn't even close. This is an incredible piece of prose poetry that makes the reader feel, truly feel, what it might be like.
ReplyDeleteI try to convey the emotions - they can be overwhelming - but I try. I'm glad you appreciate my meagre efforts - painting with emotions is like knitting with water.
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