being bipolar is like believing i don’t deserve to love anyone and will die alone and at the same time believing no one deserves to love me because i’m just an overall amazing person who won’t compromise for someone elses pride and ego.
i shouted i screamed i became a rabid dog just to be seen
don’t let the smell of candy and roses fool you it is simply to mask the smell of death emanating from my mind and body the stench of death would have given away my true cover but i will douse myself in essential oils and oud so that you will never know what a dead…
today i am on the verge of overwhelming my tear ducts i am on the cliff of having my throat clogged up i am tipping off the edge with me clutching my gut i am about to freefall to have my ribcage splintered i am running out of tape to keep my senses intact.
filling my eyes with tears from reading love stories and licking it as it reaches my lips knowing that might be the only time i indulge myself in ingesting love with my 5 senses.
a quietude of the soul had come over me neither sadness nor happiness neither emptiness nor fulfilment; a quiet disturbed life had left only the smell of detergent of unsuccessful attempts at scrubbing at my flawed personality and getting my life back on track.
I ran to the bathroom and inserted myself into my mirror’s image Under that disgusting blue light that brought up all the demonic details Of a private restroom. Dripping sinks and damp breath everywhere I looked. I sat down on top of the toilet cover and pleaded myself to calm down. I would have cried…