Bipolar Mantra.

Of the grim taste of warm stale blood inside my mouth. Sniffing half-molded clots in my sleep, trying to wake myself from haunting dreams and embrace the mute reaper that shares my bed. The characters in my mind have sought peace in suicide because they'd rather the dark abyss of uncertainty than exist in the calmness of my suffocating madness.

Photocredit: ur.square