Bipolar Bear sits in the cold,
Tired of this life, feeling so old.
The weight of the world, heavy on his chest,
He wonders how long before he finds rest.
"It's all too much," he whispers low,
As the winds around him begin to blow.
His heart feels heavy, his spirit thin,
He wonders where the warmth has been.
"Tell me how," he says, in quiet despair,
"How do I end it, does anyone care?"
The trees stand silent, the sky stays grey,
No one to hear the words he can't say.
The snowflakes fall, soft on his fur,
But inside his heart, there's nothing to stir.
His eyes are empty, his breath is slow,
Bipolar Bear wonders where he can go.
"What's the point?" he asks the breeze,
His thoughts like ice, no warmth to ease.
No one responds, no one draws near,
He drowns in silence, swallowed by fear.
"Why bother?" he says, head hanging low,
As the cold beneath begins to grow.
"I can't move, I'm stuck in place,
Lost in this endless, frozen space."
"Let me sleep," he begs the night,
"Let me slip away from the fight."
But as the world begins to fade,
The longing for warmth won’t let him evade.
"Leave me alone," he says, then pauses,
"No, don't," he whispers, "Stay because..."
He’s torn between the cold and fire,
A war within, a lost desire.
"Hold me," he pleads, "I need to feel,
Something warm, something real."
But no one answers, no one near,
Alone again with just his fear.
"Do you care?" he cries to the stars,
But they are distant, cold and far.
His voice is swallowed by the night,
No one to hold him through the fight.
"Really?" he asks the empty sky,
As tears like ice begin to dry.
His heart still aches, his body worn,
His soul as broken as the morn.
The moon looks down but does not speak,
As Bipolar Bear feels small and weak.
A fragile shell, once full of might,
Now fades into the endless night.
"I just want warmth, a gentle touch,
I’m not asking for too much."
But no arms come, no hands to hold,
Just the biting wind, and endless cold.
He lies there still, beneath the snow,
Wondering if anyone will ever know.
The pain he carries, the weight so steep,
As he drifts into a restless sleep.
The world moves on, without a care,
No one notices Bipolar Bear.
He fades away, a shadow lost,
In the silence of the frost.
Yet deep inside, a flicker stays,
A tiny spark, a gentle blaze.
Perhaps tomorrow, the sun will rise,
And warmth will come with clearer skies.
But for tonight, he’s tired and done,
Too weak to fight, too worn to run.
"Stay," he whispers, "or let me be,
But please, just set my spirit free."
Peter Pickering · Bipolar Bear