Dear Father,

It is with an intoxicated, profound, and perhaps misled familial respect and gratitude
That I write you and I ask of you
That you assess your cavalier attitude
On your own life and widespread dissidence you feel
For when your recklessness kills you and I am to serve you leal
I would be disingenuous to gaze upon the eyes of all your peers
And not deliver an encomium weighted by your grievances and jeers
So if you must die, please give me explicit instruction that you have cured your lover's quarrel with life and it's inhabitants
If you cannot I will stress the points of your plight with an unrelenting adamance

I have the honor to be your obedient servant,
M. Whit

Some call it bi-polar
I prefer manic-depression
It fits us better with adequate expression
We live our life in swooping loops
We strive at our peak then it droops
And the doleful drudge is destitute
Until all progress stops and stoops
To a halt, face down in mud and roots

And then we rise
Called back to life by a guiding light held deep inside
Sorely self-aware, we work until we burst
Droll desperation, at our best when at our worst
"Wow you got your **** together you lost and soulless ruffian."
Then we hit our peak and it all starts back up again