Trapped in my asylum,
locked are all the doors,
my mood bounces up and down,
off the walls and on the floor.

From depths of hell,
to manic's peak,
away from this,
away I seek.

The ball of rubber
in a concrete pit,
perpetual ricochet,
I guess this is it.

Frowns and smiles,
and frowns again,
like changing masks,
the shape I'm in.