i sit and wait along the drive
watching the intertwining dotted line
hold onto my hand for a trippy scene
but don't take myself away from me.
a frozen sculpture from a heated moment
paints the decor of my arrival.
drag me along, pull the strings
wait for retribution and hold on tight.
this feeling is only going as far and as deep as the heart of night.
each distinctive air and hope floating against themselves.
awaiting, a hardened padlock adorned with my name
aching from within on a happy day
saying goodbye in a terrible way.
hope is the mysterious matter making up the time
but i hardly recognize it.
every philosophy of being is remembered by a fraction
destroying all possibility of chance.
a broken knife for a forgetful life is all that's grasped onto for comfort.
the pungent state stings the senses and promises a new world tomorrow.
helpful sayings to amend lost situations,
and it's a little too late for the bird to sing.
but it will still cry out in desperation
towards the elimination of everything.
YOU ARE READING
mayhem.
Poetrya collection of poetry that delves into the longing and freedom that comes with growing up as an undiagnosed bipolar, and how it feels to come out on the other side.
