My Bipolar Low …

Scribbled Verse

from google

I am broken,

fractured, lost amidst the folds of well-meaning words spoken.

I am torn,

splintered, numbing myself in that vain hope of a new day yet to dawn.

I am dead,

inured, feeling no pain even as the flowing of red-hot crimson blood is bled.

I am nothing.

I am nothingness.

I am choking,

flailing, churning in the maelstrom as my life lies in cinders, silently smoking.

I am moulting,

discarding this sorry skin in which I feel unbearably revolting.

I am without place,

a dandelion seed on the thermals that scald my innerspace,

I am without place,

a shell of a man who can longer bear to see his own face …

from google

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