That is despite the depression.
It is simply the light that contributes to the contrast of this really dark, shitty quality, apparently aesthetic looking picture.
My mania is probably the reason you like me
My mania is probably the reason you hate me
I’m sure a healthy person wouldn’t care about what other people think about their mania, just that it feels good.
This does not feel good.
This feels like too many jelly belly beans
so much that your stomach hurts and still having to chew through an other mouthful that you already shoveled in
Words already too much to digest or spit out
I revel too much like a child all gluttonous body and ecstatic sub conscience consuming sugarcube crumbling moment
Until I swallow I swallow swallow and swallow my extruding self
My mania does not make me happy
Sometimes I’ve got so much guts it feels like my stomach may burst like I’m giving birth.
I give you life until I am killing the moment
And that is all that I’ve ever wanted and all that I’ve ever dreaded
To give you life
To take your breath
To offer fist-fulls of excitement in the mystery Can you guess the flavor
Does it taste like old earwax on silenced earphones or throw up? Does it taste like Shirley temples or cherries or- or the overkill on a cherryknot rollercoaster?
I’m sorry, was the overkill a sick aftertaste?
My mania does not make me happy
Sometimes I am afraid my actual happiness is a trigger
like my actual happiness is the sympathy treat from the universe that I deserve
until all that sugar leaves me on a high I can’t control
and I hate hate hate getting high alone
Because you’re just so alone.
Because it’s so much easier then to stop feeling real.
I know a healthy Bipolar wouldn’t care
Just that it *feels good
Not feeling too real
Despite the depression.
To spite the depression.
To be honest, I’m terrified of losing touch,
to stop feeling.
-That is all.
