Pull your hair out, pull your ******* hair out.
Punch yourself in the face you ******* deserve it.
Can't breathe again.
Weights pressing down on your chest.
**** not again, no not again.
Gonna say something you regret-
Don't ******* text him, don't do it.
******* did it.
Great, now your relationship will probably be over.
Everything feels over, everything is ending.
I want everything to end...

The tears stream down my face
the lungs I use to breathe are the only things holding me back
these hands I use to write are gripping the pavement again
because I don't think I've ever felt so low.
But just yesterday I was on such an endorphin high
I was running in the rain until my socks were
just puddles below my feet
the sky was just an outline of the child I used to be
and now everything feels so ******* temporary-
you can't catch your breath long enough to tell yourself
everything will be okay and somehow earlier today
you were doing just fine.
But these hand clutch your skull again
as you pull your hair-
hoping you are ripped to shreds
because you are trapped inside yourself
a prisoner of your own body and it will never leave
everyday you fight harder to survive
but it seems like each ******* episode gets worse.
Every mistake makes you feel worse-
every mis-autocorrected word on your phone is like
someone punching you in the throat
and you somehow let that control you and you breakdown-
throw your phone and it crashes at the wall again.
You hate yourself for these things you can't control.
Everyday is a battle you can't win
and everything falls to the ground again-
including yourself.
There is a city upon your shoulders now
and it seems your mind is only building it even higher-
you wished you could throw it off but it's getting too heavy now.
All you can do is sit and wait for it to crush you from the inside out-
slowing breaking you down one missed phone call
and un-replied text message at a time
you are breaking down.
All the help you once searched for has gone out of business
and the man on the inside ran away because it was too much to handle-
you've always been to much to handle.
But those days when everything seems wonderful come-
those days when the hands you possess seem like shooting stars
making your every wish come true again-
you are invincible.
Nights spent laughing at four walls encased with your sense of humor
and indulging yourself because everything seems so good again.
But you remember this won't last too long and your back-
back to agitation inside your bones and the war inside your head,
city on your shoulders you are crushed under the weight.

Some days it feels as if all I need is myself to make me happy-
some days it's this same self that brings me so much misery.
Other days I'm just myself, getting by like everyone else.
Then on the worst days, they all hold hands and become friends
they all form a clique and I become a target for misplaced aggression.
My manic depression is a bully, 6pm traffic jams-
and spills on your new t-shirt.
My manic depression is a sugar high, 3pm mid day naps
and waking up just in time for McDonald's breakfast.  
My manic depressions is nirvana and insanity
it holds my hand across busy streets-
but will also never let go of me.