Everything is bipolar, from the head to toes. Seam to fucking never ending seam, everything is chaotic and duplicate. One side of the coin and never the end complete.
Bipolar man, enters and leaves quietly without making a sound. Yet the thoughts in his head propound and never seem to die down, what a terrible Life; that it enters and never leaves – one moment oneself and another moment oneself yet completely apart!
The bipolar existence is stretching yourself and gentle naive I. There is miscommunication rampant with a bleak pace to life, all we ever do is get up endlessly run and seem to leave our conscience by the side. Yet we enter church and funerals with black dawned lies, that we are humble and look to god for the bigger demise. Such a profound contradiction with no explanation planned. There is no answer and the haunted question remain as they always have (Spears in a dualistic heart).
Once smitten and then left to be, there seems no end of miserable glee. Bipolar is I; and split thousand directions nay a million more before I breathes its last sigh. All it has ever put up was a frightful show; under a garb of normalcy, under the false streetlight glow. Now everything is as it is, dead and bleeding alive; two sides of life gain their way to two side of the night. You will reap what you sow, unless you are bipolar then you are no more.
Come dance under the strange moonlight, your oneself competing with the other for the grave tonight. But it shan’t end not by a long measure, what you have started your other will take far. What your other ends, is you looking at your sordid reflection tonight.
Unmaada everyone shouts and no one denies, there seems to be two or more under the single third eye. There is a lack of life and souls which drift onto the one body now coming alive, the mind transmitter so sad distraught broken and lamenting doesn’t know which soul controls its fate. Séance and much more conducted to know what has been going on, there seems to be so many ones in a single body. There seems to be no peace and space to be who you were intended to be.
The way we tackle madness, is by becoming the epicenter of this beautiful disease itself. Just let go and exist in a warp space devoid of the mind and its attribute and fundamental design. Unmaada is the condition which precedes liberation.
Become the flower of plague; wallow in the pain that you have made. There will be sadness and non designated grave. You will fill it with awe and wonder my mad friend. There is no two ways about it (The pun is fucking intended). There is no two way about it.
Peace and Quandary