Bipolar Bob

Bob holds dearly his bipolar disorder,
Holding near the feeling floating over his shoulders.
He's crossing the borders,
Dumpster diving then striving towards,
Fluorescent lighting to finally feel adored.
He rewinds..
Lands flat backed, collapsed, cracked on the pavement.
His damage overlapped by the way his parent's raised him.
One day,
Deep beneath the family basement,
Bob busted three caps straight towards his father's face and,
Each one missing,
Each one whizzing, Piercing him but not through his chest,
And as the dark silence crept...
It broke,
As his father wept.
Hearing heart palpitations protrude his chest.
To murder further by gun was Bob's intent,
But the betrayal of his son had killed him instead.
They say your childhood impacts the way your brain connects,
It influences the synapse to relay messages.
Thoughts running ragged, run out of control.
Bipolar is a life these roller coasters can mold.
As for Bob,
His life's a different story.
Not Aesop's Fables, but a crude allegory.
You see Bob's disease bleeds due to parenting gone wrong,
His modern struggle sprung by issues prolonged.