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Vallery Nov 4

the voices, in my head, they scream, and scream, and yell, and oh god, i cant drown them out, those voices, and the **** they tell me, like im some *******


the voices, ******* voices, all the voices shouting at me, the overlapping yelling, and screaming, and panic, and oh, god the voices, ****, they tell me to just ******* jump already, voices tell me im


im manic, manic is me, im crazy as crazy can be, the voices remind me how delirious i must be, oh god the voices call me


the voices are my


i am the inner manic voice, i am the voices, oh god its me, its me, its me, im manic, the voices are me, and i cant drown them out, oh ****



the voices, i mean i tell me death is the cure, the antidote, the way out, but oh god, the voices remind me that im


the voices, i cant make them stop, the voices yell, makes me spiral, spiral into oblivion, oblivion makes me, the voices make me



******* manic

******* manic

the mania that drives the voices

the voices that drive the mania

the voices that drive me to the end

the end of mania

the end of me
Kai Mar 7
I pace around, adoring each flower.
I’m not nervous. I just have bipolar.
I’m tapping my fingers for ten hours.  
I’m not restless. I just have bipolar.

I wake up four times during the nighttime.
My heartbeat flies out of my very chest.
Awake. It’s been hours since watching crime!
Alive. I begin prepping for a test.

My words bounce back around the four drywalls.
Like a child, thoughts scamper through my mind.
Abruptly I laugh. Then I start to bawl.
My emotions begin to intertwine.

I make mindless plans with seven people.
I say something out of pocket to Van.
Now I try to use a tattoo needle.
****! I just tossed and broke my only fan.
Just another manic episode.
Tis the season to be falling
Tis the season to be gay
Tis the season to be flying
Higher, farther, away ~

Chains loosened she calls to her mother
An earthy musk, grains of sand, mud on her face. A scruffy mutt laying listlessly on the tarmac, ribs rattling with the effort of each breath. She is home.

Muted flames thrashing in its cage, raging in the midst of civilization, a crucifixion of sorts. Tearing at its hair wildly, the masses trickling by, mouth agape in a silent scream. Ashes mixed into pieces of scalp, begging to be found.

Oblivious to a sound like thunder, clapping in one's ears. Strangled scream lost in translation, a language so old none could decipher. Fear wielding urgency, a disguise of desperation, depression.

Refusing to be still.
Kai Aug 2022
I laugh like a maniac.
Then I burst into tears.
My emotions are corrupt.
Anyone else do this?
Filomena Aug 2022
Can you not hear yourself?
Do you see no issue with your personality?
If someone else talked that way about themself,
I highly doubt they'd receive your pity.
Psych ward poetry.
Set 3, poem 48.
Filomena Aug 2022
I'm a ******* genius.
I'm gifted to an insane degree.
How come you guys can't see this?
Why is everyone so mean to me?

I'm beautiful. I'm incredible.
I'm a hero. You're a spectator.
I'm important and you're negligible.
I'm the president, but I'm no dictator.
Psych ward poetry.
Set 3, poem 49.
Inspired by a fellow patient.
Elena Jul 2022
This hell that consumes me
Gets the best of me
What have I done to put up with this suffering
Months of depression
And then light shines bright
Welcome to the manic world voices said
There is no exit
From this cycle
It is like being buried alive
Crying and screaming
Laughing and running all over the world
Brandon Brazel Apr 2022
As the Everburning rises in to prospective,

I gaze out of my window,

Using that moment to be reflective.

An introspective moment that swarms the temple like flies.

No matter the weather outside,

The rain always makes it inside.
Things have been even more difficult lately for myself. I really don’t know if I want to continue this experience.
Persephone Mar 2022
Darling you need to eat
But to pick up the fork I would have to put down the pen
And I cannot do that

Darling you must have something to drink
Why? The ink is satisfying enough

Darling please, you must stop and rest
I can rest when I am dead
Until then there is too much to do
Too many things that still must be written about him, for him, because of him

But darling, why is he the reason you will die for writing  
Because he is the reason I live for writing
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