I would be a horrible drug addict. Different generations decipher what our eyes say. I avert mine every couple of minutes so you don’t think I’m staring. You’ve become my father figure. You give me pills I swallow like insects. We wait to see what happens. I become 5 digits and a period, a code from your thick book of horror. I’m the ironic feather, white and unknowing. I become the unsatisfied one stretching my mind like a balloon. Life falls flat as the helium escapes fast as a runner around a midnight track. It could all be nothing or it could be the elephant in the room. I push that animal around, make sure he’s doing his job.
*Bipolar I DO: Most Recent Episode, Manic: 296.40—Hypomanic (DSM-5)