When we were young we all learned,
Play with fire and you will get burned.
For me, that never seemed to sink in,
Playing with fire was my ultimate sin.
Mania, Addiction, Childhood Trauma they say,
But maybe, just maybe, I was born that way.
No, no, no, that just can’t be,
Human instinct is to survive, you see.
Yet time and again my thoughts connive and conspire,
To convince me that this time I can have fun, controlling that fire.
Somewhere Screwtape and Wormwood are having one hell of a laugh,
Watching me teeter on the brink of another disastrous gaffe.
With my demons I wrestle with ferocity and with God,
Ten years ago I surrendered to Him and declared my personal Jihad.
Addiction and Mania are powerful foes,
“Estoy in la lucha,” I cry as stay out of their throes.
If I yield to temptation or let Bipolar run free,
I know that it could well be the end for me.
We’ve seen this movie before and we know how it ends,
The “star” inflicts pain and to Hell he descends.
So you see, I did not believe what I learned as a boy,
I had to learn by experience that fire is no toy.
Matches and lighters I have thrown in the trash,
And surrendered I must remain –or I may yet be burned to ash.
Existential arsonist, I just might be,
Not destined to burn though, I report with glee.