Sigh,
I still don't know what I'm doing
They say the older I get, the more wiser I become
But really I'm still a child
I grew up too fast, my inner child dissatisfied
Clawing at my walls, crying to be let out.

I'm not smart,
My dreams shine brighter than my eyes,
They are darkened with tears and regret
Swelled up with alcohol and so much tramau
I could sew a coat, so big enough
To wrap around my trembling form.


© apoeticmess