The Bipolar Blues

I’m all broken down and I cry all night long.

Yeah I’m completely broken down and I cry all night long.

I feel so all alone

That I decided to write this song.

I used to get up every morning and pretend I was ok.

Yeah I put my mask on every morning and pretended I was ok.

For months I went through all the motions

And would fake the normal days.

The day finally came when the mask no longer fit.

Yeah the day finally came when the mask no longer fit.

My insides all came pouring out

And I was ready to quit.

Thoughts of ending it all had filled my head at times.

Yeah thought of suicide had filled my head at times.

I completely lost control

And my life was no longer mine.

Bipolar depression had its grip on me,

Yeah deep bipolar depression had a very firm grip on me.

I desperately needed help

Or I would cease to be.

Many people that I loved soon from me took their leave.

Yeah many so called friends soon from me took their leave.

Like cockroaches when the light turns on

As if I had a contagious disease.

Now if I’d been told I had cancer, they’d have rallied by my side,

Yeah if the diagnosis was cancer, they’d have rallied by my side.

But mental illness was just too much

So they left me alone and I cried.

I’m all broken down and I cry all night long.

Yeah I’m completely broken down and I cry all night long.

I have felt so all alone

And now I’m done writing this song.

Dedicated to my hacker friend –

I’d been playing the game for months but I just couldn’t find the key. I knew there had to be a way. I’d searched the internet for cheat codes and walkthroughs, but had found nothing of any use. The game was consuming me now. I was obsessed and could think of nothing else. I finally called upon my dear hacker friend (If you don’t have one of these, you should!) and recruited his assistance. He only made fun of me for a little while as he easily broke into the game code as I watched in fascinated awe. The gibberish on the screen read as plain English to him. He explained to me one step at a time what each line of the program meant in terms of the game progression. Suddenly there it was – in plain view to me now was the key. There embedded in the pages of gibberish code was the password to the new world and my new life as the queen.

Response to a writing prompt…for fun…

This was a union that was meant to be. He’d spent days waiting for her, preparing for this moment, dusting off his best for her. Shiny and new, she would come to him from the little box that her family of four lived in. She had been chosen especially for him. They were a perfect fit – his grooves, her tongue – screwed together for just the perfect number of turns until his fire met hers and she burst into light, illuminating the formerly dark room. Yes, she was the perfect light bulb for Mr. Chandelier.

Suicide of a Dream

Red balls of throbbing fury zoom across the room

Smashing against the mirror

Shattering its ugliness into

A thousand tiny shards of

Sadness.

Each tiny fragments of sadness

Slices the flesh with

The rough sharpness of its

Edges.

Blood oozes

From the gashes

Of ripped apart

Dreams.

Life

Slowly, quietly ends

In a beautiful pool

Of shining purged

Pain.

Untitled

Corrupted government bureaucracy
Stalls the redneck fisherman.
Removed his gun before the deer were ready
For the hunt.
Stalled battery in his truck
Like the stalled debate in congress
Slows understanding
More conflict as leaves fall
Into the favored creek
Marking the end of another season.
This one blocked by melted debate,
Unresolved opinionated conflict
Saying no to the last season of the old man’s love.
His gun will never again get the deer.
His rod will fish no more.
They buried him under the branching tree
By the creek.

Collateral Damage

I’ve not been a writer for very long, but I am learning so much from this process. One of my most powerful lessons has been the collateral damage that comes along with being a regularly practicing writer. When I did my writing on the computer, I never witnessed this particular destruction. However, now that I have reverted (expanded?) to using pen and paper, I have begun to witness death more frequently. In fact, just this morning it happened again. I was sitting in the diner writing my morning pages and I killed another pen. It seemed too soon. I hadn’t yet completely recovered from the loss of the one before, yet here I was guilty of another murder. I’ve lost count now of how many of these deaths I am responsible for.

Wiring an Outlet

Welcome, friends, to my creative outlet here on the great world wide web! Many of you that know my recent obsession with writing have been asking to read some of my work. To be perfectly honest, I have wanted to share with you because I would like some feedback on my work. I will be posting things here ranging from poetry to essays to excerpts from other works in progress. If I am seeking specific feedback, I will ask you, my readers, to look for certain things. Otherwise, feel free to comment on things you like or don’t, things you understand or don’t, and things you’d like to see more of or not. Happy reading, dear friends!