Monday, August 29, 2011

A Poem About Going From Mania To Depression While Living With Bipolar Disorder

Let’s Go Back To July
Mark Vasey

Every August I’m run over by a bus,
I wish I could remember July when I felt high,
Wake me up when August ends because this is my December,
I cycle rapidly like Lance Armstrong in the Tour De France,
Up and down these hills for miles,
Some in style,
Some are vile,
Every once in a while on a flat straight away until the next climb,
Throw in a curve,
It can’t stop my drive as I thrive,
Write and get in fights because I'm always right,
I’ve been to the top but I’m like a volcano waiting to pop,
Drop the ball,
The chain falls off,
Losing traction,
Gravity is such a tragedy,
I need to see the end of this stage,
At such a young age,
Let’s reach the finish line and I’ll be fine,
I think that this will be the last time,
I don’t have to sink,
I don’t have to drink,
But I know this is a lie and when I fly high again,
I’ll forget what it’s like to be in this den,
Let’s face it,
This is a race full of ups, downs, demons and clowns,
I can’t erase it.

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