PoemsBrowse PoemsSlamsFresh DropEchoes
LearnWriting TipsPoetry TermsPoets & ArtistsBooksFor Teachers
ExplorePoetry GenomePoem MapEchoesTake ActionGroups
AboutWrite a PoemDonateSign UpLog In

Trolli on the floor


He left Trolli on the floor,

and cheese; fries; boxes; and fork

He does this so often its like a:

Habit

 

He wont pick them up,

Sometimes he cant,

Sometimes he can.

 

Thats how bipolar goes.

He snaps, he cries, he dies.

©All Rights Reserved

Something wrong with this poem?

Submitted to a slam

“#NoFilter Scholarship Slam - CLOSED”

Share

Replies are closed for this poem.

If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.

988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.

Juliaezbishop

View all poems →

Your Poem's Voice

See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.

Comments (0)

Comments are closed for this poem.