Haircut

Reckless I,
Hair and life in tangles.
Heedless I,
Hair and life a mess.

Careless I,
Hair and life darker than they should be.
Lazy I,
Should buy a brush.

Checking In. (prose)

‘And how are things with you these days, Alice?’, inquired The Cheshire Cat.

‘Well’, she answered, ‘You know that feeling when everything seems to be working out?
Your chickens have all come home to roost.

There’s a glorious sunrise, and finally, life is good’?

‘No’, replied The Cat, ‘ I can’t say that I do’.

‘Oh’, said Alice, thoughtfully, then after a little while, rather sadly, ‘Me neither’.

Stir well, until crazy

Two days up,
Two weeks down.
Mixed episode, Mixed episode, lost count.
Three hours up, two down, two up,
Mixed episode again..
Two hours up, two days down..
Etc, etc, etc.
Rapid cycling is not given to record keeping.
Half a day up, 3 weeks down, 4 days up…
Blur. Blur. Blurrrrrrr.
Insanity, Insanity, Insane.

Smile Alice, we’re just getting started.

whose party is this?

I run into old friends
Who look shiny and new,
They ask me ‘damn, girl,
What’s the matter with you?’

I say ‘It’s done to me,
It’s not something I do,
“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”

It’s my brain, and
Though I really don’t want to,
I’ll go high, (I don’t wanna),
I’ll go low, (I don’t wanna).

Synaptic strain has me feeling so blue.
I’ll go high, (I don’t want to),
I’ll go low, (I don’t want to).

“You would cry too,
If it happened to you.”‘

over and over

Every day wakes with regret,
Anxiety, panic, and tears,
But I’m still here.

A handful of pills
Survives the afternoon.
Night can never come too soon.

Dead, but
Still breathing.

In my mind, I
Have died ten thousand times.

What’s once more?

bipolar stairs

Alice sat weeping,
Staircase contemplated.
Compelled to climb.
Emotions complicated, and
Not nearly enough cake.

Now was bleeding.
Skin from hands and knees amiss,
For every single day
She was forced to do this:
Climb the winding stair.

Upwardly optimistic,
Scaling heights oft tall,
Stairs constantly collapsing,
And down, down she’d fall,
In a violent, painful tumble.

Always the choice to remake:
Lie in a heap forever and ever,
Or clamber to her feet
To repeat the endeavour.
After a lifetime, she stood.