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There is no red-tiled Spanish roof over my head
Or white picket fence covered with purple and pink daffodils
Call it psychedelic schizophrenia, dyslexic bipolar, and black hole depression
I wander grey brownish streets homeless in my mortal madness of stark polka dots
Help you golden light shapers of sanity when you take me enshrined in the lock
down palace of miracles seeking to rise above the abyss to recovery
Oh how sweet the white light of recovery. Yes, the freedom of some sensational
sanity embraces my troubled mind with a joyful rainbow of positive thoughts and
Alas, there is a fantastic light at the end of the journey
Thanks S.A. Weisberg for allowing others to share in your poem on mental health and what this journey can feel like!