Caught up in the semantics

Caught up in the semantics

Of a mood disorder

Which cycled between bi-polar 1

Through 4,

Was clouded in Cyclothymic

Understatement

But more thoroughly misunderstood

As mania,

She wandered the streets,

Captivated by the speed of change

The happy faces of children

Eating French fries in a burger bar

Old drunks wedged up in corners

Backs against the wall

Toxins oozing out of the dirt

Waxen faces melting in the dark

Whole families laughing

In unison when they left the cinema

What did they see? she wondered

Nothing too taxing

As their general mood was far lighter

Than she thought it should be

Given the state of things

There was always something rotten

In the shadows

Curling up the corners

Nibbling at the edges

Of her romance

Even when she saw a rainbow

It was followed by a red light

Nothing stopped the traffic

Like a brazen woman

Sometimes it was too much

Of a temptation to let them see

Just what she was made of

Until the sorry sordid mess

Took another turn

Plastic sticks sport union flags

Snow globes are made

For shaking

Stallholders look like Fagan

Grubby fingers grasp at paper money

As if it has gone out of fashion

Which reminded her of the time

She left her bag

On a tube train

To Victoria

Sleeping outside in the rain

All night without a coat

Brought on a fever

But the bag was handed in

It even had her tablets

In the childproof container.

She had thought of giving up

Until the man behind the counter smiled

“Chin up girl” he had said ‘If this is the worst

That can happen…life can only get better”

She resisted manual strangulation.

London Bridge loomed large

In her back story

It was often too bleak

To walk across on her own

So many temptations

Too many voices whispering in her ear

But for once she liked what she saw

On the other side

The Shard was futuristic

She felt optimistic

At the top of a curve

Perhaps she would walk to the Tate Modern

She enjoyed the atmosphere

Of the turbine hall

It heartened her to know

There would always be another

Chance to discover

What London had to offer

An artist in residence,

If only she could stand the noise

Filter out the good from the bad

She might then

Find her own way home.