Best Manic Poems
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
It's an all-powerful ejaculation
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic)
Pelvis and loins ablaze like fantastic,
and engorged with such climaxed sensation;
Pelvic desires arise when turning manic!
Eros peaks, then runs wild and Jurassic;
and hunts for instant gratification
(from mania that feels keenly orgasmic!)
To burn with unrestrained lust is horrific;
but the red-hot flames of this condition
force coitus to break out when turning manic:
oh! to explode without control like a sex addict,
and copulate with total abandon
(when mania feels so keenly orgasmic!).
So, call it mad, but don't call it poetic:
this disease demands total expression.
These pelvic desires arise when turning manic,
from a mania whose possession is so fiercely orgasmic.
“Fear whispers worry into your ear, anxiety into your hopes and doubt into your faith… Love whispers hope and peace” – by poet
With a brain washed pale
By voices thundering
Silent screams echoing through me
Clearing away the debris
Of disappointment and disillusionment
My mind darkened on a clear night
No stars twinkled through my thoughts
And the blaze of my heart
Was smothered beneath the darkness
That was like a consuming fire
Shooting flames through my mind
Resonating fear and doubt
Clouding my soul with black suspicion
Breaking away all the hope and faith
Pouring disgust through my veins
Marking the way for desolation
Despair and waves of guilt
That sauntered across my emotions
Coloring me in hues of gray
Bipolar disorder screamed
Beneath a mask of whispers
And I cried – tears of desperation
Tears that flowed out of me
Relentless, unceasingly
And I prayed for peace
That only God could bring to me
Philippians 4:7 (King James Version) And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.
March 23, 2021
Manic Melancholia
He flew high as a kite with no ceiling concealing his madness
A hawker plying his trade with all prayers lost preying on reason
Sold out flapping wings and the wind soaring no sores attached
No strings yet a puppet found but not lost scraping skies all in one
He struck the most delirious chords strangled the care of his mind
A hanged man falling a bruising garrotte noosed losing the plot then
The parachute opened on impact buried the mania deep under cover
Dancing prancing
cry cry cry
Whirling twirling
die die die
Up on the roof top
Laughing with maniacal glee
Saddest moment ever
Keeping this to myself, as you can see
Shopping, buying everything in sight
Wishing someone would unplug me
Or turn out the light
Life of the party, collecting strangers all around
Falling fast, and hard, maybe to never again
Fully be found.
Dancing prancing
Cry cry cry
Bi-polar fun.
Why? Why? Why?
A dangerous mind and a broken soul,
Years of hiding had taken its toll.
A cry for help mixed in with a joke,
I'm getting too weary to carry the yolk.
A sense of reality that slipping away,
I'd reach out for help if I wasn't afraid.
Hours awake locked inside my own brain,
thoughts in my head that aren't very sane.
I feel so freaking, God-like good;
I feel My chest-expanding heart
and the mad frenzy in My blood,
which tear My mind and soul apart!
These urgent voices in My head
reverberate and echo loud
memories and regrets now dead
and buried in a forsaken shroud;
they scream at Me, "You're the Devil!"
They prophesy the Anti-Christ,
and accuse Me of all the evil
since mankind first became enticed.
I refuse their shrill, satanic call;
and find in the Apocalypse
that God's avenging Angel of all
is Me who is the world's eclipse.
"Not Anti-Christ!" I now reply.
"Not Devil!" I begin to shriek,
"for the Lamb of the world am I,
the Lord's Messiah for the meek!"
Sinners will know their final hour;
they will drown in their anguished cries
when I at last will know My power,
and expose all their wicked lies!
In this soft, padded cell of white
they watch and look at Me with dread;
they view Me as a monstrous blight,
and starve Me with unleavened bread.
How long is My imprisonment?
I cannot guess, divine, or tell;
but from the look of that filament,
they can keep Me for quite a spell;
"Dear God! I hate these lousy drugs,"
I howl, "that they shoot in My ass!"
They hold Me down those stupid thugs,
injecting Thorazine so fast!
They fail to grasp the true reasons
why I'm here: I wish they could see
that I can forgive their treasons,
if they would just believe in Me?
Once free again I'll be reborn,
lifted up in divine Image;
I'll end man's need for drugs and p*rn;
and prepare them for God's Marriage.
So hear My law and injunction,
the lost will burn without release
once they all know My dominion:
only then will My Rapture cease!
Wild with unbounded energy tonight,
I eschew my med's; but I soon then hear
the frightful voices trumpet in my ear;
they haunt me into the stillness of night
as I transform into a monstrous sight
(a version of myself which I most fear,
and dread, as mania befalls me). Dear
God! why am I accursed with this dire plight!?
Life with bipolar disorder feels tragic,—
it's like a trial by fire, a hard test:
sometimes this dark disease makes me frantic
with madness, rapture, and profound unrest
so vile that I become full-blown manic;
then I am overwhelmed, and feel unblest!
In a subtle way
She sighed
Even how she waited
Why won’t the sky fall tonight?
Why are these memories mine?
I could take her in my arms
tonight
And I could take this PAIN
And what if it never rains…
Can I kiss these clouds
goodbye?
Underneath her spell
And safe in between her smile
It was the subtle way she sighed
And so desperately she waited
Without her in my arms tonight
All I can feel is PAIN
And these clouds, will they ever fade?
Why are these memories mine?
WHY ARE THESE MEMORIES
MINE?
There are days I don’t want to feel,
There are days I want to destroy all I’ve healed.
There are days that I sail,
Through the skies without fail
On a manic high,
I feel amazing without having to try.
There are days that I’m so angry,
Like a big cry baby
And I want everyone to hate me.
There are highs and lows,
The up and down is harder than you’ll ever know.
There are days I feel like a tornado.
There are days I’m nothing more than a couch potato,
Whose roots are mangled,
And my neurotransmitters are all tangled.
I have a chemical imbalance
And I’m the queen of this palace.
My kingdom is quite nice,
It’s like fire and ice.
The highs are great,
It’s the lows that I hate.
There are days this imbalance feels like purgatory,
Please don’t call me crazy though,
That’s derogatory.
There are days I want to scream,
On those days I can get pretty mean.
Those days I feel weak,
From the guilt that I keep.
Just because I can’t control it
Doesn’t mean I don’t feel bad for doing it.
I don’t want to blow up,
I want to feel like I’m enough all of the time,
Not just when mania is taking me for a ride.
There are days I never want to comedown,
I wish I knew how.
There are days I’m on auto pilot,
Where I don’t fight it.
There are days I’m deep in a hole,
When I just want to feel whole.
There are so many sides to me,
So many versions of myself I could be,
There’s so much more than you can see.
I am Bipolar Disorder.
Hot mess,
Bipolar express.
Welcome to my hypomanic hell,
Depression so intense
It feels like a spell.
Mania,
The broken wheel on your shopping cart
That makes you really good at art.
Depression,
The isolation station
That it kills your imagination.
Lovely Jen a poetic romantic
A mask she hated with the pandemic
Rhinestone, pearls, a smiley face
She decorated the lace
Her boyfriend though she was kind of manic.
6/1/2022
A Funny Limerick - Any Theme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Once upon a Monday manic morning I awoke in panic,
Panic with foreboding wrapped, into a world of troubles trapped,
I felt distinctly I’d been slapped, and from my bed of warmth been torn,
My eyes went wide, I cried and cried, that manic morn when I was born.
Submitted February 25, 2020 for the "Poe-etic Verse" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina.
If I skip sleep and skip my med's tonight
against my doctor's warning, I'll soon hear
the strident voices trumpet loud and clear,
unnerving me,--trust me, it's no delight!
When I'm bipolar I fail to comply
and manias become fearfully near
'til I'm committed three times ev'ry year;--
it's a pain that puts my life on standby.
Life with my ups and downs can be frantic,
a crucible, a challenge, and a test;
at times this mad disease makes me panic
with madness, brilliance, and profound unrest
so frightful; (O God, help me when I'm manic!)
alas, its curse is rapture that's unblest!
Manic-Depression
An illness that consumes me
Speaking endless lies to me
Misconstruing the world for me
Refusing to set me free
Binding me to self destructive tendencies
Cheating me of what life could be
Supressing the love within me
Strengthening the anger buried inside of me
Distorting the truth right before me
Making me too blind to see
Tonight is ending. As my breath slows. My final demise. The final low blow.
Learn from the broken. See all that's real. Tonight is your heart ache. Tomorrow to feel.
My time to prove what hate does. My time to show the world how to love.
This is my purpose. This is my choice. My chance to show you my true voice.
I've called out for this not to be true. I've heard no answer. Its what I must do.
No will can save me plus no one will. Ill prove the theory that words truly kill.
As I take in this final drop. My world of hurt will begin to stop. Slowly I slip out off into a dream. My final resting to silence my scream.
Now make this go viral. Its truly worth time. This is my ending, my final crime.
Don't try to stop me. You don't real care. I'm done with these mind games. I'm kicking out the chair.
As my soul drops into the eternal abyss. My words and acting will not be dismissed.
I lay my head down tonight as a lie. I'm not here any more. Ill no longer cry.
You take my possessions. Please take it all. Take all my burdens as I finally fall.
Take my glee and take my sorrow take my breath and take tomorrow.
Take my time, take my will to fight, take all I've ever loved because I'm taking my life.