The broken glass game (A pt.3 in my study)

The knife, my drink, the mirror and pen.
Scribbling thoughts about my best friend.
The light flickers as if there taunting me.
Rewiring my brain to write more poetry.

I laugh, I cry, I sulk, and I laugh some more.
Manic laughter overrides mine beyond the door.
A quick down of the drink and grasping my knife.
Pale face in the mirror, fearful of losing my life.

I hear their footsteps clatter in the attic of my mind.
Another swift drink in the intoxication peace I find.
Feeling dizzy and distraught have they poisoned me?
Falling from my chair blurred pastel visions I can’t see.

The knife is out of reach, my hand flails as if I were drowning.
The piercing screams of electricity are loudly sounding.
Yet there was no light, not even the bright light of death.
Falling through the floors of mental decay and stress.

A sudden halt in life and fantasy, is this what rock bottom is like?
The piercing pain howls like a wolf to the moon that night.
Unable to see, but hearing the sounds of the broken glass.
My mirror, my drinking glass, shattering into a miserable past.

A moment of silence thankfully I am willing and able to breath.
A sudden distortion, the lights flicker on. In my study at rest.
Everything was just the same before they robbed my fantasy.
Mental illness once again playing with me.