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Bipolar Poem
by med
Innocence Tortured
Molten bubbling undesirable flowing ooze
Currents changing with redirects of incidents
Triggered by slight external temperature changes that cause
the bubbles to pop
Constant pain that goads the walls of insanity to pummel and
burst
Burst into inflammatory hell busting the boundaries of
rationality
Thinking curved, experiencing hate at first sight, even killing
delectable desires
Stabbing the flesh of wounded soldiers, not letting them pass
their youths to get to the victory parades of men
Succinct and benign it can lead many to financial extremities
Malignantly sweeping across the mind's floor it takes out
what is bad along with the necessary
Superbly momentous, it grabs the soul and clings to it
It becomes who you are and erases who you were
Killing spree through entire trees
It's the clean up in the make up, but it smudges its way
through completion
Death is not wanted as much as life is loathed
Sexuality becomes a problem, not just a status quo
A fucking joke will send bubbles bursting compassionately
through like boiling black insights
Ignorance becomes stronger than democracy
Goddamn thoughts pumping through my puny head and
bleeding out my dead ears and eyes
I choose not to breath but do not know if I really want to die
Have your plans, flirt with men, don't see me lying naked in
bed, crying and screaming through all of these meds,
wanting death and nothing but that bullet in my fucking head
I am not well! I am not fine! I'm getting sick of my own mind
and cannot take this shit of lying abyss in dark sacs of wet
renowned abuse and it's cruel how you choose not to free
my sick and wounded friend of cries for help and I sit here
and yelp but all you do is stare.
Get rid of the stare! Same as that glare! What needs to be
said is already dead and you did nothing but stand by and
watch as I coughed and I shook during my seizures of
suicidal tendencies, full of hateful dread.
AAAHHH!!!! Can you not hear me, my past lovers and
friends? Can you, amongst the dead, not relate, with
decomposing locked knees in place, my sorrow to your
dreaded wife's face after your passing?
These questions mean nothing, for I cannot compare! Cannot
compare this devilish monastery, trying to convert my rests to
its ways of nesting its locks of despair.
Grab a torch, charcoal the skin, toast the feelings, and skew
my goddamn perspective!
Silence my eyes! Blind my ears! Take away all desires at the
highest confusion rates possible and make me spit out my
own life in exchange for a damnation of this shit.
Can my wrath not be heard, my heartbeat not be felt in the
bold crisp air, my skin not caressed by understanding and
contrasting likable notions?
I weep as I write this ode to the fucker that stabbed my cheek,
made the poison, popped the pills, held the breath, stopped
the blood flow, and did all of the above!
End the boiling, kill the cook; the recipe has rotted its way
through skull!
Just rid of it, rid of the endless pain that masks its way
through mood swings and deniability. Only laymen
understanding of this elegy: Bipolar Sucks!
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