Psych (Cryptic - Screech)

Psych is a poem I came up with about a month ago. It's pretty much what I see myself as.
Now the name does not make sense based on the poem, since the poem is about a bard. Well, you see, the bard's songs make him a psych. The songs may help people, maybe, possibly, hopefully.

Regardless, that's enough exposition. Do read on...

Psych

I'm a dose of reality,

I'm a companion through the misery,

I'll always be here,

When nobody else is.
I'm a bard,

I sing my songs.

Tales larger than life itself,

Cultivations of my mind.

I'm a backbone.

I'll always be here.

For anyone who needs a hand,

Or anyone who needs an ear.
I'm a voice,

For when the silence deafens,

I sing my songs,

For the war and its veterans.

People have tried, people have failed,

When they've come to me,

Looking for riches and fame.

Many I've judged,

They've lived up to their shame,

Hidden away beyond the streets with no name.

It's a great power, and a greater responsibility.

I've known secrets, and I've known conspiracies.
They know I sing, but they don't know I listen.

I can add well, six and one makes seven.

But I've disappeared,

Haven't I? For a while?

It's alright, not every kill is a crime.

I've killed my time.
Looking back now,

It seems so long.

I've made it this far,

Somehow it seems wrong.
Like it's just… a different song.

I'm not a god,

I'm no hero,

I'm not a friend,

To most, I'm the end.

I’m not a dreamer,

I’m somewhat of a schemer.

I speak what is real,

While the songs I sing,

Are figments of my imagination.

Very few understand,

What I mean and what I say.

The others, they don’t quite know,

But they can’t seem to stay away.

Something always brings them back,

And they hear my songs once more.

It helps them to move on,

They come and tell me so.

But I’ve been gone,

Haven’t I? For quite long?

It’s alright, not every journey is a straight line.

I just follow every sign.

Looking ahead now,

It seems so feeble.

I’m on my merry way,

But there’s just so many people.

Somehow it feels I won’t last,

Haunted by the songs of my past.

What I’ve done,

What I’ve known,

What I’ve sung,

And what I’ve told.

It will be,

The death of me,

Unless I swear to secrecy.

So I go on,

Singing my songs,

Tales larger than life,

Cultivations of my mind.

Hoping someday,

Someone will find,

A hidden truth behind all the lies,

And live on to tell the story.

I’m a bard,

I sing my songs,

Tales larger than life itself,

Figments of my imagination...

Cheers... ScreechDrummer...