Monthly Archives: August 2017

Writing 

With eyes that burn and hands that tremble, I grasp a notepad and scribble my heart’s desires away, as well as my most dreadful of thoughts.

There’s something mighty therapeutic about being about to pour your heart and soul onto paper.  

Often I do so in such a way that the paper gets slightly crumpled, maybe even with some test stains here and there, and with cursive that not a person but I can understand. 

A lot of feelings pass by and so do a lot of people, but there is nothing that can stop me from writing.

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Setting In 

I can feel it setting in.

It’s making its way through my veins and soon, my brain.

And the worst part of all is there’s nothing to be done to stop the inevitable. 

Can only fight bipolar; can’t cure it, nor erase it’s wicked ways.