usually the
writing helps
but this time i guess
i need something else
maybe some ****
would be okay
alongside it
throw my meds away
they're obviously not working
so what's the point
i've asked for help
but they just disappoint
apparently meds don't
fix everything
instead i'm supposed to
find different means
to keep myself stable
on my own but
then there's my mind
that affects my gut
leaving it in knots
a giant snake
maybe it should go
in the oven and bake
until is mushy and
breaking down
at least it wouldn't
wrap around
my lungs and
make it hard to breathe
now at least
they'd have a reprieve
despite all this
i still have to write
so that i
do not lose sight
of everything
i love like i usually do
when mania gets
its grip around the few
things i know
that are actually real
sometimes i can't tell
what my brain steals
keeping reality hidden
is it life or a dream?
sometimes i don't know
and so it seems
like i'm crazy
even though
crazy people don't wonder,
that i know.
or do i?
maybe that's another lie
that my brain told me
so it could continue to fly
out of my control
even though it's me
somehow i'm both
trapped and free
by my own body
or is it my mind
maybe i'll never know
maybe i'll never find
the truth about whether
it's real or fake
whether or not
my mind did take
the memories and change them
modify them until
they're not even the right colors,
like they took the wrong pill
it's too much like me
and my lack of control
over my mind
which is the ultimate goal