Prophecy self-fulfilling do fearful thoughts bring.
Yet each one is a raindrop adrift in the storm
Of my shattered perceptions of times that have passed.
Now is no safe umbrella. In starkest contrast
To my dreams of inclusion, this whetted lifeform,
In subversive containment, must feel everything.

Who is the best advisor for one who’s become
Surreptitiously sober and too circumspect?
There are some limitations that clearly preclude
Helping someone with such a piss poor attitude.
Those who’d try should indeed have their own systems checked.
It’s impossible to cheer up someone who’s glum.

I must be my own mentor at times when I’m down.
No one else is more qualified. I could escape
Through neurotic nostalgia for much tamer times
In a world less attentive to most subtle crimes
Of a cognitive nature. I’ll get back in shape
By embracing my storm even though I may drown.