Bi-Polar
There are scars on her wrists from the escape attempts....
There are scars on her heart from her pain...
That sparkle that once resided behind her eyes,
hides in her fictitious shame...
She incessantly talks when she's high...
She sleeps all day when she's low...
She tells me to come home soon,
and then she screams at me to just go...
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2016
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