Constant, effervescent fluctuation.
It never stops.
I’m never stable.
I’m never even.
Never alright.
The lows are the better
Of the two
Honestly.
It’s scary, though.
Being that
Numb to everything.
That apathetic.
That cold and lifeless.
The highs are the worse
Of the two
Honestly.
It’s scary, though.
Being that
Sensitive to everything.
That anxious.
That hot and alive.
I shiver, laying in bed, tired in my lows.
Hungry to care,
But I physically cannot.
I shake, pacing the room, hyper in my highs.
Hungry to forget.
But I physically cannot.
Depressed leaves you sick.
Almost like the flu, or cancer of the soul.
Manic leaves you strung.
Almost like exercising too much, or a fuckload of caffeine.
See, it’s funny.
People think
Depressed is just being really sad.
It’s not. It’s being tired.
Worthless to the world.
So utterly powerless.
Like a mental flu.
See it’s funny.
People think
Manic is just being hella happy.
It’s not. It’s being awake.
Worthy to change the world.
So dangerously powerful.
Like a mental steroid.
I am
A coin.
Two opposing sides, battling for importance.
Two opposing sides, battling for dominance.
Two opposing sides, battling for supremacy.
And I am the battlefield
Tired of the fight.
Poetry
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