The Ole Bubble

It's the ole bubble again,
the ole bubble, haunting me once more,
generalising itself, and in turn myself,
I'm scared of it,
I want to avoid it, but I can't,
The effing thing called optimism keeps me from damning it,
and I know it's the optimism disease.

I become surprised,
but I don't know what I should be surprised at,
myself or the so-called fate,
it almost repeats like a pattern.

Now here's the most honest and funny part,
it has returned just when I was clear I had got rid of it,
just when I thought I was now a new self,
and felt embarassed at my past, and proud of my present.
I thought I got rid of it, and it seemed I forgot it.

But now it has returned,
ole ghost bubble,
bringing with itself the past, clear cut, presenting itself like a slave.

Now what will happen,
the effing optimistic part of me wants it,
but what is the reality?
But one thing has changed, in myself,
I no longer want to dream,
and make it worse by solidifying it.
And I hope it doesn't solidify now, me writing thing.

Oh god, will the ole bubble remain, and decorate itself,
or will it burst,
or will it shrink.