Moon & Crystal (A Swig of Medication)

I've dreamt of candy corn,

black cats, ghosts

& a forever love.

A love that won't keep

me stuck in a graveyard,

floating above grass flavored

candy, tombstones made

of chocolate & a love that repairs my wrists.

A love that is simple,

not frightening to be

used as an ingredient

in my medication.

A remedy for the

things that hide in

my closet.

Or call my name from

the covers beneath

my bed because my

bipolar even has friends.

They live beneath my floorboards,

they follow in my footsteps,

they hide in blades that are in

plain sight & play hot potato

with my mind.

They're are the ones

that flip the switch,

steal the crystals beneath

my fingertips.

Rub moons across my wrists,

to use my blood in their

cherry pies & blueberry

tarts with my leftover veins,

as my tears are used to season

whats left of my sanity.

My sanity is not my sanity,

it belongs to them, them are

my nightmares, the fear

of medication dribbling

down my throat like watermelon

seeds waiting to grow.

Like my depression that are

non-existent anti-depressants,

like my father who preaches

that my illness does not exist.

My emotions are like

ocean waves, my medication

the moon, therapy are crystals

but they can't stop me from

loving you.

Loving you is holding

on to life jackets,

bracing storms,

kissing my own skin

to keep my sanity in check.

When you push me off

of you to make room for

anger.

I don't blame your hands.

I blame my tongue,

my mind becomes a saxophone

of blues, emotions become

the tide of saying things I do

not mean but they cut into

your emotions like black

coffee syringes.

I ask myself am I ruining you?

Will medication be enough?

Will fear subside? Doubts die?

Am I enough for you?

The love strikes me like a bow & arrow,

carves me into an old oak tree,

medication scares me

& talk therapy frightens me.

It boils my bones,

liquifies my blood,

turns into a toil

& boil, making my

own skin uncomfortable

to live in.

I want to crawl out of

it like a caterpillar,

waiting to shed from

its skin.

My cocoon has

become a black bag

full of maggots.

They eat at my skin,

irritate my irritability,

live inside me, drain me,

& walk me home, to lay

me into bed.

Read me bedtime stories,

sour my brain, cover it

in nightmares because

they're the ones

that tuck me into bed.

I hear their lullabies

in my dreams, your love

in my thoughts,

my bipolar is my friend

but it makes it so hard

to love.

My brain is blended into

a strawberry & chocolate milkshake

crushed with ice.

Covered in walnuts,

drizzled with lies,

& my bipolar convinces me

its the only thing that can love me.

It fills me with liquor

& a swig of antidepressants

to make it all better.

Bipolar makes it hard for

a human to love another,

crystals & moons cannot

heal a broken mind.

Fix these wrists

emebbed in planets

& eyes adulterated

with stars.

I am the reason

storms are named

after people,

the reason why love

is so toxic.

I have become liliac

& you have become cerulean.

I am the reason why shooting

stars exist, why crystals & moons

are medication, I am the defintion

of bipolar, wondering if thats

why your my swig of medicine?