Pardon me while I cry, I need to stand outside. This meeting has put me in a blunder. I feel like I should run and hide. I see nothing but bad decisions but my mouth is clamped shut. All I do is mumble in agreement. I always saw myself as strong and noble but maybe that is just the part that died when I poisoned myself with lithium carbonate.



Bipolar is when you feel depressed and hope it’s just a mood not an episode stretching far and wide into your future.

When your mood changes you are happy that you suffered just a few hours or days and not a relentless episode stretching into the unknown.

Am I ill?

Stamping on my chest.

Devils claws sink into my shoulders.

Pushing me down

And sitting in my view.

Whispering ‘You are just another small time muse’

Meaningful gazes ask if I’m fine

Glances back scream ‘I’m fucked.’

I show a small apologetic smile

One that let’s you know I don’t need you.

That it will be fine.

It will be OK.

I am just someone who cries in the street on Thursday.


If our pain is unavoidable,

Let it be a pain of our choosing.

So I guess at 13 pulling a blade against my sick was a choice?

I chose my mental illness like its a option at lunch

Bipolar, anxiety or OCD.

Normality fleeted my deck of cards that very day,

Lined up just jesters and fours

Winners cards crumbled into ash.

From blood smeared on the walls

To vomit filled toilets.

It began so easy and trivial

To vodka downed straight

Dancing in the darkness

I guess I chose pain or did it choose me?

I guess I was unfortunate,

That my parents did not raise me right.

Or the bullies viper tongues,

Venom was deadly in my mind.

When I choose to date women,

And give my virginity away for free.

Did I choose suffering or was that all was offered to me?

When I was given black eyes as love

When I was locked in a secure ward

It was not just for fun.

Did I choose the pain or did it choose me?

I guess if it continues rifling through my successes

That I left an open door for it to walk in.

I guess it saw the weakness in me.

Maybe I will never be free.

Daily Prompt: Luck

Wouldn’t it be nice 

To find pennies scattered all around 

Or to have conversations with leprechauns

With pots of sparkling gold. 

Could it be possible to have a dream come true? 

With no price to pay 

Or anything to sacrifice 

Like true love

Lucky,  wouldn’t I be

If all my dreams came true 

Without lucky pants or shoes

A story or a superstition 

Salt all down my back 

Counting magpies with a mild panic attack. 


via Daily Prompt: Luck