poems · Poetry · poets · Writing

Manic

When I’m manic,
I feel like I’m at my most honest.
My most creative self.
My feelings are raw.
My mind is open.
With a thousand different images floating around.
Too hard to pin down.
They whiz through my brain,
Like errant wispy clouds.
Disappearing and reappearing just as quickly.
It’s not always this way.
It’s a drain on my heart.
It’s a drain on my soul.
It’s beautiful and horrifying.
Leaving me utterly exhausted.
But for one small fleeting moment in time,
I’m free.

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