Living Amongst the Brambles

This is quite a dark description of how bipolar feels, mostly focussing on the suicidal thoughts that go along with the condition.

I'll use my own black veil,

To hoist my sails,

And float the the world thereafter.

I'm equipped with the tools,

To calm the ghouls,

And silence all their laughter.

It'll be my own axe,

To break the back,

Of thoughts with deep rooted tangles.

I could wipe the slate,

Or succumb to my fate,

Of living amongst the brambles.

But the fog sometimes lifts.

Life reveals little gifts,

Walking light on my feet for a treat.

The brambles now distant,

I can plan with persistance,

How I shall achieve my next feat.

Though soon the leaves will be red,

Soon the leaves will be dead,

And the thorns will nip at my knees.

When the numbness creeps in,

Grinning his grin,

I'll be cold to my bones in his freeze.

What goes up must come down,

What smiles must frown,

But I feel fatigued with this shambles.

I could wipe my slate,

Or succumb to my fate,

Of living amongst the brambles.

Should I climb a tower,

To escape this Gower,

Street where I work alone.

With no hedges to hide me,

Window ledges could ride me,

And the clouds would become my new throne.

Author's Note

Any constructive criticism is working