"Talk to me"
Simple words, you don't deserve my answer.
A screech, and screams, and thrash.
Long in the blackest of my warm bed.
Deep in darkness, living Spartan.
Less than food, need not for electricity.
Shades pulled and tears.
When I bounce down the stairs
And sing to the toaster
And cartwheel to the TV
And laugh at the air
And you don't know what to do
I'm always rightfully wrong.
Combat boots at the funeral.
Red lipstick to school.
Satin dress for the pool party.
Energy balled and attacking wild.
Swinging useless and broken
I smile at strangers and kiss the pavement.
Shout my way home and barely stifle tears.
My own mind, my own body.
Why can't I handle myself?
All I know are bipolar's dreams.
