Confessions...

Confessions from the Journal of a Manically Depressed

My mind is too scattered, I think.
Fervent fingers drive pen across paper and
I spill my strife out into ink.

In dreams I watch a white tide shrink
from conscious thought to sleeping sand-
my mind is too scattered, I think.

I awake and wait for sleep to sink
into my eyes while with my hand
I spill my strife out into ink.

Across the page inky tendrils slink
in patterns of poison that expand-
my mind is too scattered, I think.

I scrawl everyday pettiness to the brink
of turning a brainchild's melody bland.
I spill my strife out into ink.

I willed my life and dreams to link
together, but they would not stand-
my mind is too scattered, I think.
I spill my strife out into ink.