by Danielle King
My story is a word game, a black hole of darkness, with hurt I shan't compare. With searing pain and crying out, with things so hard to share.
When times got tough I'd close my thoughts, box them up and forget. Push them out, one by one, my fears, my sadness, my regret.
The pills they keep me stable, stop the mania, prevent the downs. The medicinal high, the chemical rush, the imbalances are drowned.
The numbness and unfeeling, replaced with smiles, some are real. The knowing if I screw up once, I could lose this even keel.
Last updated November 05, 2022