Bipolar Cliche
Life as a manic-depressive's so, so drab
and wearisome at times; it's bad enough
to drag me down where I don't feel so tough.
When manic, I have the rare gift of gab;
and when I do, I take a taxi cab
to the club, get smashed, and act like a rough.
But when the bouncers begin to rebuff,
I calm down like a mouse trapped in a lab.
Life's so full of despair and pain, it seems?
If I could, I would chuck it right away;
but that'd be taking it to dire extremes
and drama. So I oscillate all day,
and drink to tales of less suicidal themes:
God help me! I'm such a bipolar cliché!
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