Creative, cluttered mind that's me.

A life living, not as one should lead.

Breaking, still surviving in my head.

Hummid air of anguish grips my throat.

Dragging me through every bittersweet day and every single long exhausting night.

Anxious torment and lack of sleep from insomnia,  and ptsd.

Rage ridden bipolar and depression radiate through out me.

But I'm here it's a wonder when suicide is peeking in and flirting with me.

I feel eye's all about me, watching, lingering in safe distance.

Careful word's and rushed conversation is how I am accepted.

Frustrated and alone is the equivalent.