My greatest fear is going mad
It can make me very sad
Nobody wants to go insane
Nobody deserves that kind of pain
It comes back to haunt me time and time again

There is always a smoking gun
A house move, bereavement or conflict at work
Anything could trigger it
Even if I’m all geared up to expect it
Then wham, bam and the plane has crashed with me on it

It starts off slowly
With a lack of sleep
Anxiety and inability to concentrate
I’m prowling around the house at night naked
Eating sardines out of a can

Colours appear brighter
A heightened sense of awareness
And everything makes sense
I’m solving complex problems of metaphysics
How can that be possible, in reality?

And then it gathers pace
A feeling of disembodied my space
A cacophony of sounds, colours and words
Exploding like fireworks in my head
I’d be better off dead

I must take action
Before it’s too late
Extra meds and a few days off work
Crisis averted, nobody noticed
But next time, will I be so lucky?

For more bipolar poetry:

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