Bipolar

To live with an illness that slowly kills you

Dark thoughts encircles my heart,

give me the hand of death,

for the sorriest fancies are my companion.



I have scorched the snake,

but not killed it,

now deaths malice

search for my heart.



Better be with the dead,

than on the torture of the mind,

to lie in restless agony.



This is the painting of fear,

this is the air-drawn dagger which

I have to live by for all eternity.