Seven moods within a day,
All arguing to have their say,
Negotiations are contrite,
They’re bruising for another fight.
Seven voices in my head,
Each pantomimes a dose of dread,
A word cannot be gained nor lost,
My soul is trapped by aching frost.
Seven samurai in my soul,
Katanas poised with self control,
As sharp as desperation said,
Forsaking wounds, for which I’ve bled.
Seven passions in my heart,
But which to pick and where to start,
Is one more pressing than the rest,
I guess I’ll pick what serves me best.
Seven needs to calm my nerve,
Some magic pills held in reserve,
But zombie brain can be a curse,
Well never mind, I’ve handled worse.
Seven crashes in a year,
Bipolar is a bitch to steer,
But worry not for time’s spittoon,
Will wash me from my doom and gloom.
Seven verses in this prose,
My words are but a painted rose,
With colours bright to light the way,
My seven moods have washed away.
© The Complicated Bunny – 20 Mar 2021