Naked and so very cold on the floor,
Lost in the volatility of my emotions,
Consumed by the forest of my thoughts.
How I long for the solace of sleep,
If only the medicine would kick in,
Pulsing through my veins for the last
Weary bit of my mania,
Attempting to reduce the heat under my overflowing ***.
Dying feels like a release from this hell,
An in between of too much and not enough.
With a coin in bipolar coffer,
My soul springs free,
But I have already given so much.
I do not travel there,
Near the edge,
For I am so excited by possibilities,
But my chest aches with the sadness of this cycle.
I miss me.
If only I could find her.