FicWad

I have a sickness of the soul,
It tares me down yet makes me whole.
I feel so wretched but act bold.
I can’t express my inner mould,
For fear that I will scare you cold.

I get depressed and can’t be consoled,
So people get mad, hate, and scold.
It is very hard to be controlled
When they are fools who are old.
They try to enfold me in their gold,
Too hide the face they can’t extol.

I act enraged when I am told,
Be glad we keep you in our protective hold
They say my hate will come back twofold.
I am told I am uncontrolled,
They claim that I have freedoms wrestling hold.

Yet how can they say that when I am stole?
My hearts not mine it’s far too cold.
They switched it out to get a dole.
When I look up at a world,
I see people who are just theatrical roles.

But still I care too hold,
I cling to faith in nonexistent souls.
In hope that someone else like me
Can take away the mold,
They set on me too make me cold.

plz comment, and rate! I need some info as to how I write!