a thirst for self destruction —
the need and bargaining to take others down with me.
mania in it's most heated form,
raw,
no mercy.

it's only a matter of time now.

Super moon, freshly minted gold coin
tossed high up, to what mortals blindly lose
their hearts to,wanting to hold on open palms,
each one claiming, pointing up "This beauty is all mine"

You are the one who plates silver to my sweet sins
when she and I,roll on the open balcony in a frenzy uncontained
til it's waves  lash higher and higher,spill out and get placid
for that time I forget the play of dark matter and other secrets
of cosmos, still to be brought to light, by billion droller projects.
Let hydrogen colliders work day and night on it,
it doesn't interest me at this time of full moon joy
let me wallow in your illusion for now, it's enchantment pure
to me a  lover, it speaks,words  more real,than the forces hidden.

My mania tells me things and I obey
Like:
You should dye your hair three different colors in one week
Like:
You should stay up all night finger painting and call it art
Like:
You should organize your bookshelves
based on sensations instead of genre
Like:
You should give away everything you own,
you don’t need it anyway
Like:
You should text all of your exes,
ask them when the feeling faded
or if it was ever even there
Like:
You should ignore all of your phone calls
and alarm clocks
and all other sounds
that make your skin crawl
Like:
You should cover your windows with black sheets
and pretend that life is one long night
you never have to sleep through
Like:
You should distance yourself
from everyone you love
tell them you’re okay
you just have to go away
for awhile
Like:
You should tear off your layers
expose the wounds beneath
wait for the sting to turn numb again
Like:
You should shatter yourself to pieces
pretend they can be lost
and found again
Like:
You should hide anything that hurts
in the space between your ribs
forget they’re growing
forget they’re spreading
forget they’re waiting
all winter long
to bloom like flowers in the spring

My mania tells me things and I accept them as truths
Like:
If you stay awake long enough,
everything will make sense
Like:
If you starve your body,
your mind will expand
Like:
If you drink another *** of coffee you will be calm
Like:
If you smoke another cigarette your hands will stop shaking
Like:
If you feel like you are going in the right direction,
turn around and run the other way
Like:
If you feel like you are alone,
stay where you are and never leave
Like:
If you stop speaking to everyone
for long enough
they will forget you exist
Like:
If you stop writing things down
it's like they never even happened
Like:
If you let another person stay near you for too long,
their aura will eventually leak out
and seep into you
and it will make your insides melt
Like:
If you try to figure out what someone else is thinking,
you will either only pick up static
or you will hear awful noise
Like:
If you love someone,
you will make them wish
you'd never met
Like:
If you try to forget,
the memory will only get stronger,
it will plant roots in your chest
while you sleep

There are universes lurking behind my eyes
worlds perched
on a framework
of my design

I
wove the cosmos
from my nervous system
stole back my word from God before he sold it off as his own wisdom

my mechanisms
set a rhythm
of atomic precision
any schism eviscerated with unabated ambition
my mission?
to imprison
the infinity of time and space
within a calcium box
atop a carbon base

I have evolved

to survive in the blackest depths
where there is no light, no sound.
To survive at the tallest heights
where the air is too thin to breathe.
Yet, I am being crushed by the immense pressure
of the unexplored trenches of my mind.
I am being suffocated by the lack of oxygen
at the sickening peaks of my vacant euphoria.

I have evolved

not to thrive, not to live, but to survive, to exist.
I can't remember the last time I felt human
at the apex or the bottom of my trivial existence.
I don't believe that I ever was, because
humans have evolved to live
on stable grounds below the cliffs.
They have evolved to build the ships
that sail above me while I drift.

I have evolved






                                                   ­                                                     only to exist.

Mood stabilizers, they call them, but in some ways, they're more like painkillers for your heart. They numb the feelings so that you don't have the extreme moods you are accustomed to.

When you have a mood disorder, everything you feel is so much more intense, and so much more certainly snowballs out of control. That's most of the problem; the complete lack of control you have over your chaotic emotions.

But then you go to a doctor, and they give you happy little pills called stabilizers to do just as they're told to. Stabilize you. Normalize you.

Funny thing is, even with the little heart painkillers, you'll never be normal. Even if you keep up a fantastically ordinary facade, you will never be ordinary. You will always have those little pills in your pocket telling you that you are not good enough the way you are, that you must change.

Its a double-edged sword, these pills. Because some days you wonder why you can't just be you, why do you need these drugs in your veins, but then you remember the cuts on your arms and the painful nights where you drowned in your own tears and you remember why even you don't think the person you are is acceptable. Get better, Grace, be better, Grace. The words pound in your ears until you forget who you used to be and you are always striving to be something more, something better. You strive until it kills you.

You are stronger, you can beat it, they say.

What if I don't want to beat it, though, just want to have control of it? I never want to feel less than everything, I never want to feel so dull and numb that it kills me more than the pain ever did, I never want to beat myself, I simply want to be me but controllable.

Because right now I'm uncontrollable and that's terrifying.

Painkillers for your heart, numbing you until you can't feel anymore. But sometimes I wonder if I really want to feel numb.

Do I want to be me, or who everyone wants me to be?

One is safer than the other, but which one is really living?

Because all I want is to feel alive, but I don't know whether surviving will entail that.

Painkillers or killer pain.

That is my decision, one I'm not ready to make. Maybe tomorrow, when mania is not so close to my throat.

Maybe tomorrow, because I am far too afraid of today.

She laughed with disapproval
Glittered motion sickness I grabbed a her head
tossed her hard enough so I can be dead
The **** came on-a charging angry I took his limbs
he discarded all my paperwork tons of scribbling
years of failing

Weakened from dreaming
Wandering in the dark while the mice weren’t making any peeping
He said I can’t breathe but my lungs were blacker than his death
I’ll let them shoot me in the back and maybe I wouldn’t mind it
I figured it would be allright  I don’t have tryophobia

****** so many ***** but I didn’t get the job
The moon is bright in the sky yet you’re not smart
I keep writing on trees but please believe me I already have arthritis before thirty
Standing and eviscerating
I keep writing on everything they try to stop me but I hold back

They were chilling and waiting
on his death bed
Said the last rites but he already knew they loved him
I don’t know my write from the wrong doing
He’s finally accepted how life jerks you off the wrong way
I think I got graphomania