Phycosis

I wake with shadows stitched into my skin,

Voices whisper low, then start to shout,

My thoughts collide, no silence left to doubt,

A war that rages deep and far within.

My pulse runs fast, anxiety takes its hold,

It floods my chest like waves that never cease,

I beg my mind to grant a moment’s peace,

But trembling hands still clutch the fear I hold.

Depression paints the daylight shades of gray,

It steals the warmth from everything I knew,

Turns hope to dust, distorts what once was true,

And drags my spirit slowly far away.

Bipolar winds keep shifting in my chest,

From soaring highs where I feel almost free,

To crashing depths that swallow all of me,

No steady ground, no place to stop and rest.

Schizophrenic echoes twist what’s real,

A fractured world that bends beneath my gaze,

Faces blur and time dissolves in haze,

I question every thought I try to feel.

Yet in this storm, a spark remains alive,

Though broken roads have led me far astray,

I fight the dark that hunts me every day,

Because somewhere in me, I still survive.