The good thing I recks about being bi polar is playing God and The Devil on your own mind controller, and then letting them both fuse sugar with water to create benign Coca Cola.
The clock always moves slower when you arrival is nigh, it's as if time conspires to delay our high; but for the dwell on your appear there isn't room: you'll be here instantly, sometime, soon.
I was drunk, you were drinking and well on your way, for one night we visited again the apex of us, a perfect facsimile of those days when we were ours and danced for hours.
You would have loved these songs, your hair stand on end sing alongs, born in every breath you never met. Still everything makes time for you, that widest sky, that soaring blue.