To the letter, verbatim, word for word
I can give voice to what I cannot tell others
Despite my smoldering desire
To scream about my wrangle
Who could I tell?
I refrain from saying:
I am waging a war on life.
But the enemies fighters are seized,
And the combatants are forced to arise,
Even though everyone on the battlefield
Were rooting for the degenerates.
An intimate battle with myself is under way,
And my lesser half refuses to admit defeat.

My negligence towards contentment
Is not at all by design,
It’s just that hell has broken loose in my head,
And composure is farther than I predicted.
Moving forwards, I will be residing in things
That I have been told will fix me.
Carrying on not for myself, but for others.
In high hopes of endurance,
Before the front line drowns again
With my previous rational
That the tribulation will never end.

So as I put down my roots,
Crumpled on the terrain,
I will finally allow those around me
To send their cavalry,
Because the only way to win a war
Is the avoid fighting singlehandedly.