Bipolar....the Creative Disease?

I believe this to be true in most cases. Artists analyze every part of their human mind. In the end they can see everything. Knowledge is not technically power when you learn to hate those who walk day to day without a single thought flying through their minds. They are not alone. We are alone in our own little worlds. We see what they chose not to. We feel the hurt of their ignorance and incompetence when those who bare it pass us by. We lie down and stare up at the sky and describe it in beautiful words to whose who cannot see. They look straight ahead, at the future and refuse to see an end. We tell them that there is, this they ignore. We see the light and the dark and we explore the good and the evil, we learn to love one or the other a little more as they travel the gray. In the end it is us who die lonely and afraid as we put shotguns to our heads. And they die with love around their death beds. We suffer so they can occasionally pick up our hearts and tear through them sucking the life from our words, our memories. We accept the pain it takes to keep our eyes open to make up for the fact that they are blind. You see, the world wants everything to be equal. With life comes death, with knowledge comes ignorance, with healing comes pain, but in the earth we are all the same.