I am high.
The highs are rare and tantalisingly fleeting,
a flash of pure, brilliant sunlight
in a sea of ominous dark.
It is not bipolar, I know;
those highs last for days and weeks
and I clutch at them for mere hours, minutes, seconds
Gone, like a trick of the light.
I ask myself if it was just my mind
playing tricks on me, just being unkind
but the evidence is there, it’s glaringly clear.
I skipped along mountains and lit fireworks bursting
into life electric, but misunderstood.
I pour over my words
flickering with excitement, sparking with passion.
There’s a gleam in my eyes
and a knife on my tongue
I am sharp and wicked and tickled with glee
nerves crackling into life like currents through open wires
I am racing, pacing, racing once more
brilliant magic and at the top of my game.
They peer up at me. I balance on tightropes
so elegantly placed between skyscrapers of beauty
I know I speak foreign tongues.
They regard me with confusion, curiosity, hesitation
I burst out of boxes and throw flares into the sky
they don’t understand, and I know why
I know, why.
I know I am high.
Not the highs acquired by toking, or wafting
plant or pill or opiate utopia
The highs fashioned by a mind so craving of freedom
from the shackles and chains of God’s slithering demon
it escapes for just a minute
somersaults in the air
and I am breathing pure oxygen, in and out and in and
I know I will crash.
I am ready and waiting
but I refuse to look down
no, I won’t look down.
I’m dancing on clouds
volcanoes, they tremble
and just for a moment
I’m the Queen of it all.
So if my life is a sentence of toil and darkness
I will take all those spurts of brilliant sun
and live like a goddess in that higher creation
and be glad of the high as I tumble way down.
Vickye Fisher © May 2016. All Rights Reserved.