(We find false hope inside lies and cans of Keystone Lite)
outside it:
CAVING IN
she realizes I do not know myself
(I realize I have never known myself
and keep the bowl lit as I pass)
The night surges and I f
all
gre a t and terr i bl e
Rip open my ribs!
Rip open my ribs!
and they do
Blood following me back upstairs
SWAYing
swayING
SWAYing
And I feel their laughs behind my back
IN THE DARK
my wrist is burning with secrets
yet; onwards
thick with the weight of
f e a r
I am terrified by the baggage of my dreams
and by: the bones
that make up the Rotten Idea
of not being Good Enough
YOU ARE READING
In Which
PoetryA collection of poems about my experiences battling bipolar disorder, OCD, and addiction.
