manic’s playground

a manic’s playground is            my mind

entrapped within a jungle gym of ludicrous joy

buried deep within the soiled sands of plunging sorrow

an unbalanced act atop the high top

the too quick and slick descent of my                sanity upon the slide

the cloying sweet-rancid smell of the tire swing

as i hold         tight

sickened-spinning-dizzy from deciphering what’s real              what’s not

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manic days

When there are Manic days

where hope when not cried for

glimmers slightly,

tinting lightly on the blushing horizon

Reminisce back to those heavenly times:

sweet stretches of blissful sighs.

Remember those moments

those cheery, dazey, redolently, dreamy days.

Wait…what is that?

Oh.

Only a
silly
repression.