11 minutes

11:21 pm and sorrow hits me
again, again and again.

Ghosts of past lovers
dance around thoughts
like an annoying mobile
not to entertain, just reminding
me of past failures and other things;

A woman at a 11:23 pm writes
in a corner as bedtime approaches;
medication doesn't always take the mental
illness nightmare away, it just hushes it a little.

I have manic thoughts
like secrets, hidden from others
except readers of my poems,
they call it art
and I like to think
of this Bi Polar wheel
as a pretty shade of blush pink
petals, falling to the floor
day after valentines- Belly full of chocolates.

11:32 pm
going to end this,
hush....
it's time to sleep.