As I walked down this busted up bowling alley,
Looks to be in his mid-40's decided to approach me.
He tapped my shoulder,
Looked over to be welcomed with a decent comb over.
I take out my earphones and let my ears hone in on the noises surrounded this awkward decorated human interaction.
Before I could ask my question of confusion,
He fired his counter attack of emotion with another one:
"How are you, son?"
In my mind I started to run,
Because no one has every came up to me ask me that like this man.
So I felt obligated to answer his demand.
I am bipolar-ly depressed
Living with so much distress
That i can never have a peaceful rest.
Because every time I close my eye lashes,
My nightmares show up in flashes
To the point where can't breathe steadily,
And my heart beats uncontrollably,
Unless I take my options B or C.
But that's when I'll actually realized that positive thinking is just deceiving.
And until I can lay my body down for a full 8 hour rest,
I will go through my nights sleepless.
But you know how the story goes,
Everything that I truly want to say will never get exposed.
So to wrap this up,
I tell the 40-year old guy,
With the comb over on top:
"Honestly, I'm fine but thank you for the stop."
I hope he didn’t realize the hesitation hidden in my voice,
Or the change in tone,
But I didn’t want to tell him all of the distress that I’m feeling,
I didn’t want to tell him that I’m depressed,
I didn’t want to tell him I can barely sleep at night,
I didn’t want to worry him.
So I kept everything inside,
Topped it with a cork,
And kept walking down that busted up bowling alley
As if I was ok.