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
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
Crisis signature of consent remains un-signed