He’s in his twenties and hardly worked a day.
Goes to school, completely shits on his grades.
Talks a bit, and you know, he tries to date.
Ends up curved and so he self-medicates.
You see this is a man who refuses to decide his own fate
He won’t choose left from right, up from down,
“Hey Alexa, which way?”
He is constantly moving,
and by moving he trains.
Training to run in these circles,
chasing this goal that he didn’t create.
“Great,” you say “and now he’s finished for the day?”
Nah, he goes home, puts food on his plate.
Eats, shits, and then sits down to create
a poem about a certain man that he hates:
a man who is exactly the same.