Undiagnosed

Pretty sure I’m dying.

Maybe I’m just histrionic.

Either way, I’m pretty sure it’s chronic.

Wait. Who am I talking to?

I thought that it was you,

But maybe I’m a schizo too.

The paranoia’s setting in.

Someone put me in the looney bin,

Before I go berserk again.

All this mixed emotion,

Let’s call it compulsion—

This undeniable notion,

That we all need a diagnosis.