Life as a manic-depressive's so drab
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and wearisome at times; it's quite enough
to drag me down where I don't feel so tough.
When manic, I have the rare gift of gab;
at such times, I wish I can take a cab
to the club, get drunk, and act like a rough;
but I don’t as I fear the cops' rebuff;
so, I behave like a mouse in a lab.
My life's so full of hopelessness, it seems;
if I could I would end it right away,
but that'd be taking it to great extremes
and drama; instead, I read books all day
and craft poems of less deviant, droll themes—
oh, that I weren’t a bipolar cliché!
Ngoc M. Nguyen, 19 July 2012