"Are you doing well?"

Well?

No.

Truth be told, I'm in Hell.

Just spinning round and round again stuck on this carousel.

My head feels like cabbage,

Clogged up by emotional baggage,

I'll salvage what I can just to keep from going savage.

So thank you for your patronage, but really, I can manage;

I'll walk the walk and talk the talk

I'll trudge through the sludge of my own thought

Chalk myself up as a laughing stock as I feast on nighshade and hemlock.

I strive to rise above my station

Achieve what's written in the constellations but I keep needing vacations and psychiatric consultations

I'm sick of all the preparations, stop telling me congratulations, I've barely done anything yet and I'm falling into desperation

Because I'm spinning round and round again with nowhere else to go,

Trapped on this stupid carousel, dragged on with the flow

My simulacrum should be pretty, but I'm feeling kind of dumb.

This conundrum's too confusing . . . so I think I'll just succumb.