There is a half of me that sees
The world with beauty and with ease.
There is a half that’s always vexed,
Her world is freakish and perplexed.
They are a mixture, a concoction.
I wonder who brewed such a potion.
Were they an evil mastermind?
Or just a fool of human kind?
These halves are bringing me much trouble!
They chew and gulp my poor brain’s rubble.
They fight and shout inside my head—
I need to choose one to be dead.
Kill only one. Make no mistake
So she who wins can overtake.
But who is she? What does she know?
Are they both bad? What’s next if so?
Will I be dead? Can I exist without one?
Do I need two or maybe none?
What if I’m worse off when they’re dead?
If they are good, what if I’m bad?