bipolar – Mxcellany – Poetry, Music, Art

NaPoWriMo Day 20

A sadness runs through him
Like the coldest river
Like the bluest river
Crashing and coursing through
Dams of debris

Dammed and dashed against
Banks and rocks of
Psyche and skin.
Coursing through veins
To the pools of his open palms
And drips from his fingertips.

A sadness runs through him
Like oil through saltwater
Slowly spreading and sticking
And clotting and clinging
To his body and soul.

A sadness runs through him
Like wild cats through
The limbs of the trees of his veins
Silent and swift but
He still feels the pain
Of their claws sinking In to his skin

#PoeticAnswers 83 – Do You Have Any Kinks?

I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.

It’s a constant barrage of
Twisting and tossing and turning
And pushing and pulling
And burning and biting
And clawing and cutting
In a never-ending search
For happiness.

A happiness that never comes,
Much like myself because
I am too generous,
I am on the receiving end of
Two toxic partners working
In discord and out of rhythm and harmony
To give me the best worst fucking
Of my life.

Partner A:
Definitely built for speed and not comfort
And when I say speed,
I don’t just mean in terms of firing rate.
I mean the drug, because
He lives at a million miles an hour,
Never slowing, taking me by the hand,
Taking me to the brink,
Taking me on a rollercoaster ride
Where there’s no safety bars,
Where there’s no speed limit,
Where there’s no means of self-preservation,
Only self-destruction and sado-masochism

Partner B:
They like to take it slow,
Painstakingly, mind numbingly slow.
And it’s not so much sensual
As it is sensory, with a blend of
Substance and pain,
Blood play and asphyxiation,
Everything is a threat and a challenge,
Like waking up or doing literally
Anything because she leaves a mark on me
Brandings of bites and bruises
And cuts and cigarette burns.
Like I’m her property.

My bedroom is a BDSM dungeon,
A Bipolar Disorder and Sadomasochism Dungeon,
Where I’m locked in my bed and my head
With two lovers who love to fuck me
At every given opportunity.
And it would be fine to
Take them one at a time,
Treat each of them with the right
Time, dedication and medication
But unfortunately, I often find
I’m locked in a situation where
They’re both fucking me at the same time,
Tearing my body and mind apart
With thoughts that cut like a knife
And fingernails that run
Over and under my skin.

I have a threesome every day
And I’ve been having threesomes
Every day for what seems like
My entire life.
I don’t expect you to know
What that feels like but
Let me tell you,
It’s exhausting.

Question from Michael Clark from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 41 – What Do You Think About When You’re Alone In Your Car?

I make the same journey every day and every day it’s different.

Memories and thoughts pass like cars on a busy highway,
Never stopping, just always moving
Rushing like they would rather move along
And be safe at home,
Away from the stop and start trouble and
Hustle and bustle of Edinburgh traffic.

Sometimes,
My mind travels far and wide,
Clocking in more miles than this
Little Volkswagen Beetle that
Crawls along at a steady pace
In the rat race of ife.
I think about what could have been what should have been and everything in between.
Like, what if I was related to the queen or
What if I asked out that colleague on a date,
What if they asked me out on a date,
Would either of us say yes,
Would it just be a regret?
Would I rather be invisible or psychic,
Are both powers essentially the same,
Have I just lost the game?”
And other conundrums and questions that
Sometimes have answers or are best left alone,
And blow away with the MacDonalds wrappers on the floor as I open my car door.

Sometimes,
I think about the mistakes that I made and the mistakes that I’m making.
Putting myself in a state of worry for twenty minutes
As I ponder and wonder
“What if my colleagues find out I’m autistic?
Is my autism showing or did I hide it?
Is it obvious that I’m always in a panic?
Can they see I’m not properly medicated?
Are my thoughts racing because of the mania,
Or just because I’m driving faster?
Am I driving faster because of the mania,
Or because my thoughts are racing?
Did I skip that red light?
Is that police car waiting for me?
Is that police car going to my house?”
Then I realise that I’m
Trapped in a carbon and fibreglass coffin,
Strapped in for my own safety,
With only my tears and fears for company.

Until I open the door,
And feel the rain and wind
Wrap around me like a familiar cold comfort.
Watch the rubbish fall out and fall apart,
And then I breathe again and go home

Question from Megan C. from Facebook

#PoeticAnswers 28 – So, What Do You Do?

I work for the Government.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
I work in Government finance and
Administrate Government grants
To help local councils develop their
Green and low-carbon infrastructure
To help promote the uptake of
Active travel and electric vehicles.

I play video games.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Essentially, I just sit around
On my arse all day,
Pushing buttons and fiddling with joysticks,
Reminding myself of my previous,
And slightly more devious,
Sex life.

I play musical instruments.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Piano, accordion, ukulele and banjo
Amongst a few others which,
In conjunction with my vape and my
What can only be described as “questionable” facial hair,
And the wafro which encompasses and cushions my skull,
Effectively makes me the world’s ultimate hipster.

I write poetry.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It does nothing for the hipster stereotype
That I established in the previous stanza,
Nor does it make me sound like any less
Of an absolute wanker,
The only way I could possibly be worse
Is if I could actually afford a Macbook.

I see a therapist.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It’s mostly just talking about
What I’ve been doing and
Why I’ve not been to see them in two months,
Which leads to further conversations about
My relationships, or apparent lack of them,
Resulting in deep-sea dives into my personality.

I suffer from bipolar disorder.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
It’s like a low-budget rollercoaster,
Only ever hitting highs and lows
Or somewhere in between,
Making me see things that can’t actually be seen.
Making unscheduled stops in places I don’t know,
Driving me off the rails like a runaway train.

I self-harm.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
I lock myself away emotionally and physically,
Hiding inside the shattered remains of my
Already fractured mind.
Smoking, bruising, purging, cutting,
Using my body as a punching bag
To knock some sense into myself.

I spend a lot of time thinking about suicide.
It sounds a lot cooler than it actually is.
Wondering why it would be better
To let my helter-skelter life
Plummet off the edge of the waterfall
At the end of my shallow-water life.
It’s the result of nihilism instilled by
Self-doubt, mental health, and life choices.

And having to work for the Government.

Question from Lisa T. from Facebook