The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do

Was tell my mother I am bipolar

The easiest

Was that I didn’t want help

I don’t know about you

But the vicious volatility

Of a disease that makes you

Daring, Droll and Depressed

All in the same sentence

Doesn’t send sickening shivers

Down my spine

Yes I understand the grave consequences

A grave should my mind dull my senses

I won’t take advice from someone to repaint my fences

If I do I won’t see life through the same lenses

And no, It’s not that I’m apprehensive

It’s that the intensive offensive tension

is dug into my mind like senseless trenches

Yes I am a skipping record that needs a rework

No I can’t remember the last time I felt great

Yes silence fills many gaps in my life

No it is not digging me a deeper grave

But I’m getting better

It’s getting easier

I’ll get there;

I’ll go where

Getting better is

Up there