The two sides of me – Airy

The war shall carry on within the two sides of me.

My blood seeps through my veins in peace on one side
Then rushes in tirades on the other side of me.
One day I will tear the whole world down in unwavering bravery.
The next I bury the sunlight and lie down in my own grave.
The light hides the darkness and the darkness charades as light
Should I let go of what is left of serenity in my path?
My soul wants to hold on to the wings of angels above
But then my heart wants to look down deep into the crevices of nothingness and loneliness.
Will I wake up tomorrow conquering the battle or dying in a blood bath?
Soaring with the winds or dying in the tornado cycles?
Wasted breath lies in wonder, of the two sides of me, which will I wake up to?
Will I reach for the moonlight whilst listening to the waves crash below me?
Or will I fall upon broken stars that will scar me forever?
I shall arise each day and ponder which mask of the two sides of me should I wear?
There is nothing left anymore, she has died, all is left is the two sides of me.

A blur…

I am here, yet I am not… like a blur that makes no sense to the eye. A piece of art without a purpose… just simply here… like time and space conspire against me… and day turns to night without warning. I am the skip on the dvd, the unravelled remnants of a cassette tape.

Something that takes time to fix, but I wonder if it’s worth the time at all. I over think these thoughts, I’m plagued by them day and night… it never quiet, it never stills. Each day that passes it keeps on with it’s taunts.

A radio playing, a TV on at the same time anything to calm my unquiet mind… one day it will tire but I’m so afraid… that day will be the one I stand over my grave. 

27.02.17

Unsure how to feel, unsure why I feel at all, wish it would make sense instead of being something that leaves me questioning so much.

Sometimes I wish I was someone else, could enjoy special moments without feeling guilty, be wary of happiness in case it’s something worse.

Mania is something truly beautiful, yet truly destructive, I wish for something in between. A happy medium, a happiness, a truth… a feeling of normality… to be able to live life… without regret and worry.

My Bipolar shows when I smile – JackKnife

My Bipolar shows when I smile.

From the increasing number of times
where I was too busy to brush my teeth or
trapped in my bed – because I didn’t have energy to move.

You wouldn’t really notice,
except for when I’m happy
and my smile reaches up towards my eyes,
there is a darkness spreading – a gap – one tooth wide.

You see, sometimes my flame,
it burns so brightly it takes me with surprise.
I have so much fuel that must be used
but taking care of myself? There simply isn’t time.

And sometimes my flame, it just
dims so quickly – a glowing ember
of what might have been – barely existing
so dark, I can’t even sleep

​Bipolar Phantasmagoria

I want to kill the voices in my head,

Like the things that keep me awake, 

Like a bump in the night,

I want to wake up and just hear myself,

Make sense of the nonsense, 

And have stillness for once,

You see the devil truly does sit on ones shoulder,

He does so only to taunt,

And to laugh at your confusion,

He makes you take notice, 

Stirs up your emotions,

Like a roundabout spinning faster in motion,
I reach out to catch a piece of myself,

A moment for once,

That can stay clear of the commotion,
I am a person although misunderstood,

My mind fights against me, yet my heart is still good,

I’m told I will find peace when I sleep, 

Yet my sleep seems to hide from me,

Like a mistake has been made.

Broken Dreams 

I lay awake some nights, as sleep evades me, 

So I watch the darkness turn back to light.
The shadows that once peeked in through the window disappear to show only shards of light.
The night a distant memory, like the sleep I used to have.

Dreams aren’t always seen in sleep, they can be imagined, and lived in any hour, some of us hide there when life gets to much,  holding on to better memories, or living in our own minds.

My mind is a sanctuary, a library of sorts, where I live when I feel fragile,  and I find things I love…

Books I have read,  sights I have seen,  every image I have captured on camera,  the films and plays I have enjoyed.

This is my escape from the broken dreams,  without this I would not be of this world. 

This Bird Has Crashed, Baby – Andy H

The booze makes an early riser

 Dry lips and

Ex-girlfriends in my
Dreams. I must be ill.

Outside, the crows of
October mark their return
And I light another cigarette
In the dark, balls swinging

In-between, and play out
The play for all it is,
Paying the price for my
Independence and realising

I need no-one anymore.
She messages me to
Enquire of any improvement.
“Still full of **** snot”,

I reply, separated by this
Damned Atlantic, wishing you
Or anyone were here
To lay my head on those

Warm and milky breasts.
You tell me about your
Son and I suspect him on
The spectrum but what do

I know? I’m just another
Man that wipes his arse
Clean and fluctuates on
The edge of my own personal

Madness. “I do love talking
To you”, she says. Without
Any hint of horse-trading,
I type back, ”Me too”. I see

The dots as she types and
Await her answers.