the darkness of my tiny pupils

focus exquisitely with manic-depression

and how pain becomes art.

i lay in slight curl

facing the wall upon the bed

in a dark stare

with wanting death

as a nurse walks in.

the slow roll on my back

feels like the vultures

to peck away at me.

i stick out my right arm –

the pinch of pain

that i feel from the I.V into my vein

is linked in my battle to be sane.

only the tiny droplets

resulting from this illness

keep dripping one by one

as i continue to look on.