When manic, I think, feel and act like God—
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like Superman or the world’s savior;
the rush from feeling like a demi-god
makes me believe I am a conqueror,
like another Alexander the Great!
Then I’m flung to the dark abyss of hell
when my wild moods now suddenly abate
and rapidly repeat that I can't tell
the infinite and bottomless lows apart
from the sheer, ecstatic, Olympian highs.
These shifts in mood (so subtly fine) outsmart
me as my disorder intensifies.
Most of my life is spent between these two
extremes—what would you do if it were you?
"To have the soul of a poet is to feel with the mind, and to think with the heart."