In tandem there are thoughts of mine
which in my lonely mind progress
of future failures and current times,
and dark, complete social regress.
My prose is not a masterpiece,
my poetry is lackluster,
with all my writings stains of grease
simple iambic tetrameter.
In future times there lies the threat,
no competency in my field,
drowned out with drink my harsh regret,
bookstores will take not my yield.
Does computer fill the void of heart,
or would the lovely lady slog,
through psyche bitter, rough, and tart?
perhaps, until she finds my blog.
When I look upon my flaws I hate,
the image of a childish elf.
Despite the things I wish of dates,
I’m not so much a catch, myself.
But through it all, I’ve got to laugh.
I think I’m intellectual,
But all it is inside my head,
is hipster pseudo-smart babble.
In word and thought, in mind and deed
there exists in every human man
the ability to discern the need
of fellow homosapians.
But empathy is not a thing
that I have got leaps and bounds.
I’m not very proficient at
making friends by human sounds.
And so I shift and step and trip
across the never waning tide
of interactions, loath to slip,
and let the people see my mind.
Inside a tide will not subside of quiet-hiding inner mind which in my time will scarce unwind from a fog of not-so-thickened hide, ’til in my side a thorn I find, of self-pity, guilt and withdrawn sublime.
And if my thoughts will still progress that deal regress to consciousness, I must insist it would be best to best the perceived injustices. So while I may feel in my chest the crushing death and wish for rest that wraps around me as a vest I must change the sense of brokenness. I feel that if my questions fester any longer in my chest I’ll feel a tide of loneliness which pulls me down to fault (at best.)
Therefore before I bore you anymore with problems from my massive store I’ll realize more and more and more the society that I abhor will not wait for my frightened core to emerge and explain my conduct poor.