Poems induced by a person's bipolar disorder. Cutting through paper with a pencil is easier than cutting through flesh with a blade. More
Bipolar disorder gives the "swing" in "mood swing" an incredibly literal meaning. Normality is upwards, when you fly like a bird and get the closest to the sky; but only when you reach the peak, you notice you've swung too hard, and gone too high. The fall will be terrifying. And it is.
So what does you, a mere innocent children who isn't all that sure falling from a swing won't result in certain death, do when your body hit the ground? Do you scream? Whimper? Cry? Swallow your silence in a breathless gasp?
Words here are a replacement to the usual dialogues of a diseased mind, ones that go back and forth, back and forth between two or more voices until no one knows who's saying what anymore. They contradict and complement each other whenever they seem fit, and each word has a life of its own, often stronger and more vividly present than the author's own. Some of these poems are two lines long. Some aren't poems at all. Some are deformed and irregular, but don't carry a special meaning in that - they were merely conceived that way, and changing them would be mutilating them, cutting them with the blade that they seek to avoid.
This child managed to scream and cry and whimper and laugh and shout and whisper all at the same time. They hope you will give their sounds a listen.
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