Choices one makes.

The choices I make cause difficulty. The problems that ensue are my fault.

The struggle to live right is causing me grief. Its hard trying to be someone great, nice, friendly. I battle daily with myself, but I overcome most obstacles. I escaped many times with scratches, from fights, and battle scars are numerous on my chest.

The weapons I use are varied, for the enemy is always using new weapons to slay me.

The sweat runs down like rain, the blood flows freely, when I forget to block the blows, with my shield.

Will I survive this war? Will I win these battles? Will anyone join me in my fight?

Will the world continue to watch with glazed eyes, oblivious

To my problems. What is my future? Will somebody save me before its too late?

Is there a superman? Will he find me? I hope so, for without back up, I will slowly bring down my defenses, and be attacked without mercy.