Many are manic either in concubine in street
psychewards where they find no peace
believe in dreams impossible to reach
God bless the manics
let them find solace in their dreams
For I once was and still am
manic and believe it to be
a strain on the brain that nobody sees
to believe in things
to dream things
to feel things
the burning inside
an indignant flame, that
no medicine or amount of sleep can tame
a song with a million verses with no chorus or refrain
the world outside bores us
and sees us as insane
both each a lesson
one feels so good
like a never ending sex session,
the other feels like clammy hands
on wet skin
molesting you over and over again
kicking your face in till there’s no light
in your eyes
then the clouds lift
the sun splits
and then comes the bright side
If I had never lived through a mania
I would not be who I have become
sick to some
or seen as dumb, but those memories
remain in my membrane
being quick as a cat, and labeled insane
but oh, how mania feels!
Your body pulse quickens
thinking things can change and you can
and all the rest is this wild embrace
that gives a glow to your face
and a boost in your step!
and when the mania is gone…
and depression sets in
your left with the shit you did
how stupid it seems,
but how wonderful it was!
The pulsing quickness
you feel long
‘for a sleep
and in the beginning your dreams are bleak
and in the end livid, like liquid thining
both beautiful! and bright!
Original! and ripe!
can’t sleep through the night,
but what is life without manics
turning the wheels!
Using a mind that refuses to yield
to make a difference!
thinking beautiful things
that the sun shines
and the moon lights the night
and the stars make shadows that only
you can see!
The magic of mania
the crippling defeat
when the psunami of sadness…crushes all your dreams
and all that is left is medicine.
you take again. and again.
and the urge to feel that beauty again.
sleep well my friend.
For manics who can’t sleep.