Every war has its casualty,
Whatever it’d be our sanity,
Whatever it’d be our friends,
or even just our wit’s ends.
The war of the mind is of the biggest torture,
We play with a soul that’s pure,
We destroy our rationale,
And make up our own realm.
The long path to recovery
Is not always pretty.
We shed our old selves,
Act like we’re twelve.
Lose the toxic gents,
And lethal events.
Recluse of the world,
Safe from the swirled
Crazed community,
And grow beautifully.
Your best bet,
is your pet.
