Why do the birds sing, today of all days?

Don’t they know of my malaise?

Cars roll past-people go about their day

Of last night, I dunno know what to say

I’m here, I’m here. I still fucking here

Slides on black ice like Bambi the frightened deer

Bambi on drugs, but only the ones doled out on prescription

A thirst for binging is her typical crisis affliction

She cut herself too, prefer not to say “I”

She is ashamed, though honest she never did it to die

She cut because cutting is safer than “other”

A few little lines that still sting, now hid under a plaster for cover

‘Other’-the meaning-must I spell it out?

Slipped in her religious recovery-guess she’s not so devout

Not so devout in her faith of herself

Overcoming the odds? No, she toppled off the high up RELAPSE shelf

Broke into pieces

while she dreamt of languishing on pain-free tropical beaches

Sucked by mental illness PTSD infested leeches

Stupid how she does those vlogs and speeches

She’s imperfect and doesn’t always practise the good intentions that she preaches

Email sent to psychologist lady

Ignoring suicidal pain is pretty clinically risky and shady

I reckon so anyway

Issues loaded on a boat that won’t sail away

Just gimme a break please gimme a break

Swam to the bottom of depression’s icy lake

Not by choice

Sank more like

Impailed on hypomania’s spike

What do you do when you’re feeling like both drowning and flying?

Taking your chance on a game of twisted poker-faced I-fucking-spying

Why birds must you sing?

Where marks the end to this mood swing?

Sick of this crisis thing

Cut myself again

Danger

High voltage

All alone

Dogs walked by a friend

Kids safe with their grandma

Just me in this house and my mind

Prepare for Summer rain’s next downpour

She can cry now

In private

Crisis signature of consent remains un-signed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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