Bipolar Rescue

I want to sleep in new dumping grounds, with past times of evident action, gaze at neon marquees open to the nocturnal sky, relive multiple memories without protagonists. Discover cracks in the teeth of fears, embrace immature artifices without plot or complexity, sink into addictions renovated for modernity, fabricate defense mechanisms without losing distrust. I want to reveal the secrets of the emotional blockade, without serving the frames focused on desires of others, control the seduction of imminent anguish, reveal what is buried within this natural force. Transform universality into localisms, intrigue myself before the possibility of never again feeling the pain of error, I want magic to take by the hand the last attempt at a bipolar rescue, not to yield before the violent silence, I know, waiting is not moving forward.