Every evening I died of a sickness of depression,
As if all that caused my pain was a hybrid of my immense emotion,
My actions reflected my thoughts and I was unable,
To feel or proceed surpass the incognito but yet felt laudable.
Some would say I'm a lunatic,
But all these emotions were a force which came malignant!
Soon emerged my self conscience that were constantly oppressing the view of my life to seem opaque;
My philosophy of life: I could die at any moment."
I felt a stench that appeared rather putrid,
The illusion of life and suddenly I became euphoric.
Being clever never got me anywhere now I'm on the brink of an occurrence that will leave me to suffocate,
As the actions of my own had slowly forced my wisdom and the beauty thereof to eradicate.
This is my encyclopedia,
I'm just another by-product of a lifestyle who only seeks out their own perfection.
As if we fear the vast cruelty of rejection.
Let the chips fall where they may,
So they say;
Never be perfect but delay,
This old addiction that has caused so many men to go astray,
Ever notice when people tend to succeed they forgot to pray?
Like we're suffering from one ugly addiction,
As if it's stranger than fiction;
These words are my Medulla Oblongata.