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Wishful
I'm a solemn boy
Waiting to be a man
No one has the answers
Few can understand
Spent my days randomly
Prefer to be alone
I could create any fate
Though better, the less I know
Close my eyes once again
I can feel the heat deep within
Scared of sincerity
Hell is what's destined
Later is a construct, everything is now
Give me what I want, I'll take it somehow
I'm still waiting to be a man
I think I always will be
No such thing as obligations
Easier to act cruely
Where is my offer of posterity?
Induct me into this world
Heaven's only wishful
Life is meant to unfurl
Ill die and die and die again. And live and live and live in pretend. My mind is an inkless pen, fill my soul and begin again. Writing my ambitions down and seeking a decent end. Or is my pen always dry, and my life already destined.
This poem reminded me of my
This poem reminded me of my boyhood, which was not entirely pleasant to experience at that time, but its issue passed one way or the other.
Starward