Occasionally, I give living a chance.
I try to laugh at jokes
And try striving
Toward a common goal.

But reality catches up quickly,
And hits me in my sleep.
It tears my soul and individuality to bits,
To force me to follow people like a newborn sheep.

I'll try and bargain and bribe
With myself,
With others.
To be normal,
Hopeful,
Proud.

But this cloud
Of despair and doom hangs overhead,
Like Damocles' sword
Swinging by a thread.

It always falls.
Each hair popping,
Shocking the very air that I breath.
Electrocuting the light
And illuminating the night,
That I hold so dear.