Sometimes I feel magnificent.
I feel like I’m unstoppable,
a force to be reckoned with.
My actions aren’t well thought through,
with suicide attempts on impulse.
I’m running off of a few hours of sleep,
and I feel like nothing can knock me down.
I love myself,
and I love the world.

But then comes the lows.
I can’t get out of my bed,
and my pillowcases are stained with blood, mascara, and tears.
I claim I’ve never felt this awful,
which I’ve said the last five times this happened.
I sleep for too long,
and I feel inferior.
I hate myself,
and I hate the world.

Now I write my notes,
apologies for hurting everyone.
And then the good comes again,
but I only wait
for this ******* cycle to repeat again.