Explore manicdepression

My mind is a mess. but not in the way they portray in Hollywood movies, no but in splatters of color and flashes of light and sensations that ghosts trail across my arms and whisper against my neck Somedays it is a poison. and others it is a fine wine, the perfect drug that pushes, pushes, pushes and i feel myself explode into a cloud of euphoria, the pen in hand and the canvas is covered and it is beautiful and it is perfect The cycle is viscious. sometimes i will wake up to find that i have never slept at all, no sometimes i find myself caught in a suspended animation of action and words, no reaction or thoughts, just screams and tears