Feeling Bipolar. Jack Larson

homogeny… group think… conformity… There’s a place for that, but not in our vocabulary.

      Brain doctor, mind rocker, I know you try… But you’ve got to ease up. I want to fly.

      You give me fourteen pills and prescribe it nightly. I swallow them obediently, it’s on. I’m a zombie.

      Doctors say the meds are working, this toxic contraband. So why’s my wife complaining that I’m a different man?

      Stammering, twitching, convulsing and shaking… The side effects I cope with, a better man in the making.

      I take uppers for my downs and downers for my ups. Anti-psychotics tame my urges, yet with others, I erupt.

      Supposedly under control, I’ve lost touch with my soul.

      At home and work, people tell me I’m crazy. Your PHD on the wall doesn’t amaze me.

      I have no desire to spend my moments curtailed. With or without this cocktail, I’m derailed.