I
want to run but can only walk,
I
want to shout but can only talk,
I’m
wrapped up inside myself
Suffering
depressive ill-health.
Pharmaceutical
pills to swallow,
Rendering
I to be boringly slow,
And
I slur in my speech, stuttering,
Mumbling
and quietly muttering.
Slow
motion stumbling – falling over,
Fighting
the sad, sleepy side effects,
Conversations
are a bare minimum,
As
I am mentally a continuum
Of
different characteristics –
Surrounded
by bars and bricks.
Copyright
Andrew Stevenson 04/02/14
A sonnet.
A past poem denoting having bipolar while incarcerated in the psychiatric hospital, that I've re-edited.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Well written Andrew, hope you're feeling better these days.
ReplyDeleteYvonne.
Thank you Yvonne, for your kind words. Glad I'm in better-health these days. I was in a bad place when I had a spell of being 'in' and 'out' of hospital. They didn't put my on tablets that suited me for a while! Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
DeleteYour poem paints a sad reality for a lot of people. Sometimes the "cures" are worse than the illness. I'm glad those days are behind you.
ReplyDeleteThank you Susan, for your understanding. It took over a year for them to get me on the right medication that suited me. I've been well now for a long spell, which I'm pleased with. Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
DeleteSuch a difficult poem to read. You have expressed yourself so well, Andrew, in describing what you endured.
ReplyDeleteThank you Louise, for your kind thoughts. Blessings to you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Delete