I don’t fancy myself to be a poet, but when I’m hypomanic, the words just flow out, often in a lyrical fashion. This short poem captures the racing thoughts and rapid speech that tend to come with hypomania, and the inevitable fall back into depression that follows.
One quick voice
For every two thoughts—make that three
Every run-on sentence becomes another run-on sentence until there is
and it is almost midnight no one is awake to tell you to shutup your thoughtsareracing because that’s just how this thing works
Tomorrow you will crash