Un-Self-Theraphy Session (A reply to another poem)

When I start to fade from dull to bright
Then I take on this new type of delight
And the flame inside my soul starts to die
Here I wear cool countenance, not fiery-dry
I lose control over will-power and hysteria
I rampage in the rapturous unrestrained area
The tears inside me start to flow?
To this I shall simply say 'No'

And those voices in my head
Or they from under my bed?
When they say:
And I do weigh
"I love you"
I hate who?
Makes it even worse
Emotion as a curse?

Why should I try
Or like Hamlet die?
If in the end
I'm on the mend
It's all for nothing
Or worse: something
Or all for something worthless
But I shall find, and not guess.