Sonnet 296.53 – Bipolar 1 Disorder

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Sonnet 296.53

 

It was the slightest trace of consciousness

Adrift and passing without identity.

Not yet a thought.  Not mine.  Only a wisp

Of being still breathing inside me,

Filling the shallow edges of my lungs

With the cool and quiet morning air

Rhythmically sliding over my parched tongue

Which has just made me acutely aware

That I’ve once again failed in the attempt

To silence all that is known of myself.

The day may be new, but still I’m condemned

To rise up when I can and find the shell

That I’ll spin and pinch then load in the gun

To finally and once and for all get this done.

 

Bipolar 1 Disorder, Severe

Current Episode Depressed

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