I’m drowning,
Battling a wound filled with salt on my heart.
Bipolar-
It it impossible to carry on a heavy smile while being weighed down by
an anchor.

I am a danger of dying.
People on the train keep talking,
Mumbling words that make my heart and fists clench at the same time.
It makes me want to scream underwater,
As i’m already drowning in waves of self pity.

My lungs fill with water,
later a thick blood consistency
Gripped between sheer terror
and simply white noise-
Swinging wide-awake nerves.
Your heart is in your throat, but it lasts for hours and-
hours on end.

Anything is possible, but only the bad things.
The highs and the lows grip at my throat.
The highs-
Almost being an inability.
  It feels like being in a constant battle with the person that is ill.
Constantly dictating-
Constantly feeling guilt.
Like being permanently hungover.
     “I’m fine”

Because being hungover is not a valid answer in society.
Trying to pretend you’re not hungover is tiring.
Sleep isn’t coming.
I’m still drowning.