Pulp.

I'm a wandering lunatic
wishing for the moon to excuse me.
I twitch and jump and fear the worst.
The worst always happens.
The storm before the calm.

My reason for living--
to lead these children
through the forest of their minds.

The forest they see is as dark as mine.
I'm sick and weary
I'm breaking down to pulp

I want people to know that I am trying.