Can I accept some mutation of recalibration
To fix me? Not by any means.
My predicted restriction to anything that might help,
Always gets in the way. I sense my sentence for
Pure youth, is coming to an end.
Now adolescence in association with
Responsibility, has come.
This burden fills my wilting head with
thoughts made of lead.
Watch as i crumple face first into the now bloody
Cement. These accountabilities intensify
Every anxious nerve. My broken record of a
Mind likes to repeat words and phrases
That others like to say, reminding me of my
messy, convoluted personality…