Bipolar Hell
I scream, I scream, as I tremble in dread!The death bells toll, and I hear their piercing knell.
The grave, the grave, where I lie as if dead;
like a corpse buried deep, deep in bipolar hell!
Darkness and gloom, woe and despair, I know.
Like sheep, my Joy is carried to the slaughter;
and torn out, her heart's eaten by the black crow,
as fresh blood spills, and mingles with water.
Pure Bliss, the stuff of Joy, is never mine.
Like meat for sacrifice, she is killed and bled:
her soft flesh, cooked with herbs, oil, and spiced wine,
is prayed over; then devoured till all are fed.
So, it is! This manic-depressive disease:
a malady, a curse, an evil psychosis,
a bane and blight of the sick and ill at ease,
a mental illness of persistent necrosis.
Poetry by Ngoc Nguyen
Read 531 times
Written on 2022-10-02 at 11:37
Tags Bipolar Disorder Dysphoria
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