mental illness

Bipolar Relief
Open your door let me sit at you're table
try to understand me if you are able.
I am more than a diagnosis you see

NO
Excessive thoughts over and over again
of how taking your life would allow you to win.
Each time you push them out of you're mind

I can't feel its hand but it's touching me again.
The words it doesn't say echo in the wind.
The Demonic face it has that I too often see,

Insanity lives just one door away

from the drug induced reality in which I stay.

The psychiatrists amuse me with their alchemy.

In about every second in this world we live in,

you hear about Pain, Suffering, Darkness, Evil or Sin.

They push those things to the top of the heap,

Often I cry when I use my ink pen.

It releases the pain trapped from within.

My tears fall to the page and dilute the ink.

I lose my focus and can barely think.