Mania

Riding waves of instability Never knowing what lies past the next crest Will it be the blissful white of mania The sweet naivete that allows me to smile without cause and laugh without reason Eyes vacant, hands waving like Harding's, escaping Flapping wildly and leaving me giddy Drunk with a lack of depth Or will it be dementia Loss, the vast blue borderlands of terrifying endlessness The fragile shoulders that crumble at the slightest touch Gnawing of the lips Left bloody and bitten Insecure sighs escaping intermittently to stain the air Leaving raw streaks of blindness and gaping holes of arduous inevitability Whichever it is, I hope for the former Ignorance may be bliss, or it could be numbness Impossibility of gathering my thoughts, But I don't need them, not today, not here, they would be an unwelcome burden With reality comes the dementia The truth and eye opening sunbursts that force me to see and feel with unbelievable sensitivity Unwanted sensitivity, unwanted tears, uninvited emotions So sick of it, I don't want to feel, to see, to realize that real eyes see truth that I don't care for No, I'd rather dwell superficially in blindness content to wallow in impossibilities and impracticalities Not curious enough to seek the light Never thinking long enough to form a thought.