Poets are bipolar--
musicians, OCD.
I wonder if we’d have much art
without insanity?
Coleridge smoked *****,
Poe preferred whisky.
If not for their addictions
would we have their poetry?
Blake had manic visions;
Hemingway was suicidal.
The heights and depths of their emotions
meant their minds were never idle.
Garcia tripped on acid;
Iommi did *******.
Would they have played such blissful notes
if they weren’t a bit insane?
Yes, we must treat the ill,
we want them with us still--
but if we lost all craziness
there’d  be genius that we’d miss.

I don't want to be sick anymore
She whispered to herself
As tears fell down her cheeks
She contemplated her health

Her eyes have opened, you see
To the relapse she endured
"How could I let this happen to me?"
I thought that I had learned

But mental illness isn't that simple.

It's all my fault, it's all my fault
Her mind starts to insist
I should've known better
I could've done better
Guilt bothers her like a cyst

I'm tired of living this way
I'm tired of all of this
To recovery I will commit

It's hard
Recovery is not a golden path
Easy to stroll down
It's long, it's arduous
But worth it
So worth it.
Otherwise in my thoughts I'll drown.

I will fight
I will take more care
For this new battle
I am prepared

Blaming myself will not help
Negativity is poison as well
Strength, perseverance and might
Will lead me out of this malevolent shell