this used to be my sounding board,
at least, it was
until i took crazy to batshit
in two point five.
then there came the therapist,
the human-shaped recepticle
for all of my emotional garbage,
but it wasn't the same.
throwing things at a trash can
will never be as fun as bleeding
red white and crazy over a pristine page.
so here is where we meet again,
at the crossing where bipolar emotions
and creativity will either collide beautifully
or kill themselves trying.
welcome to the wreckage.