My world is no longer colored red
I'm not pulled by a deafening rage.
No longer wishing to be an angel of death,
my dramatic self finally leaves the stage.

Slowly, I gain back control of my mind.
My breathing normalizes.
That part of me is gone, but what's left behind?
Everything has now turned to ashes.

"Will you forgive me?" I say, watery eyes,
face contrived by shame and remorse
you say you do, but your stare, cold like ice,
punishes me with fearful force

"Make sure you don't get too skinny on me again"

Thank you for the reminder
But this illness is not a choice
Sometimes life gets harder
And I start listening to the voice

The voice is always there
A back drop to my life
Never forgets to bash me
Its negative phrases are rife.

I struggle to believe in myself
Believe that I'm enough
That I'm actually succeeding in life
Letting go of control is tough

Perfection and anxiety rule my head
Along with depression
These thinking patterns swirl around
They're the source of my oppression.

In the future I forsee
Sadness and anxiety
I don't want to dwindle
I want to feel more like me.

I must choose recovery.

Manic:
synonyms: mad, insane, deranged, demented, maniacal, lunatic, wild, crazed, demonic, hysterical, raving, unhinged, unbalanced etc;

Depressive:
causing feelings of hopelessness, despondency, and dejection.

Manic
******* pairs of strangers every weekend, because them thinking you're desirable cures the hollowness for a minute or two

Depressive
Letting a man tie you to a bed and rip the skin off your shoulder with his teeth because you deserve to hurt

Manic
Getting higher than you've ever been so you can have an excuse to scream

Depressive
Crying at night and pretending its loneliness that's ******* you up

Manic
Driving a car you stole from your sister, even though you don't have a license or a clue where you're headed

Depressive
Drinking tequila during class so you can prove to yourself that you really are a badass

Manic
Dressing like a ******* and letting random men get you in their cars

Depressive
Punching a wall so hard your knuckle breaks

Manic
Calling yourself hot **** while you sob over the sink and then laugh at the world's beauty

Depressive
****

Manic*
****

we've all written what we can
hands tied and intuition bound by
people and things and always more things

giving all i can
just to be dealt even less than
i came with
leaving with less life than i arrived

weight pushing more than your elbows on your desk
more than the palms on your brows
the teeth grinding, closed shut eyed, a 'fine' suffices while still petrified

we wait and wait and wait for change
like a poor man on the street
begging to be set free
but the week ends and the day begins and we start again and again and again and we wait
and we stay still
stay stagnant
fight the urge to projectile *****
but we stay still in silence.

good habits can't be broken
just rewritten.

Crazy is the medicine
as is what the body does
Blood let won't be of my own
Problems? Come find
my home, secluded precipice
Hold up your hand
still it of the trembles
willingly consign
worry at the cost of
all you own

Medicine, come fight me!
Split existence, split to wind.
I'm paper, aren't I?
The weaker of the two.
You're ink, aren't you?
You will do.

Taking medication may be fastening together the seams that could split. Between SSRI, HRT, and caffeine the moments speed, fleeting before I secure my grip. What's the point of living as a zombie losing opportunity through barely there fingers? I can be **** for you, I'm fond of pleading on my knees, tongue over my teeth, waiting patiently for my mouthful -- but what's point? What would it solve to introduce a controlled study meltdown? Well, I see the seasons coming at first light. Spring and Fall pull balance apart. So pull apart, because these meds don't help when my mind conspires without me, but with the world. Leave me alone. I'm caught gazing at the canvas in the white on walls. If it appears I'm choking, I am. I choke myself to gasping near to death as a means to depart from my leaden regret. Do I grow wings? No. Do I ascend? No. Do I myself then deify? No. It takes endlessly repeated little deaths to prevent permanent disintegration in passion's cruel flame.

I recite the thoughts I pray,
I do so everyday,
Just because I like to think
The others will go away.

I thank the Lord for being healthy,
For my body being capable,
I'm pleased that my system's stable.

This is so the fever of my mind,
Won't persist through till mornings light.

I guess it works every time.
You see I might have caught a glimpse,
Of this girl who was called Mia,
She didn't stay too long though;
They said she was sickness,
And I had to be better.

But sometimes I hear her calling,
Most of the time she's silent,
Although she kindly likes to visit.
She likes to play this game
Of thoughts,
But I know that I'm winning.
She wants me to join her team,
Apparently I can't make up my mind,
Or at least that's as it seems.

I thank the Lord for my good health,
And it's bad to contradict,
When I recite my blessings I remember,
This means I cannot make myself sick.

So next time Mia joins me,
For just a little bit,
I remind her of what I know is right,
Even if she doesn't like it.
I tell myself to remain my state of mind:
That I can't go back there
Not just 'one more time'.

Have you seen this girl called Mia?
If you do, please walk away.
I know that she will beg you,
Tell you she wants to stay.
After a while, you'll have taken the time to see,
That this girl called Mia,
Is not actually all that pretty.

We all know the cracks between them are temporary, from downing a handful of happy-candy and flowers with a swig of chamomile tea, how only closing their eyes softly and the paralyzation of their body, pulling them and their body down the rings of Saturn can aliviate the scent of their own fear fighting WW2 in their veins, and the sound of humming from the television with a shattered screen... or what we call the voices of people in a large, congested crowd.