I’m caught up in a cycle of first thought wrong
Second thought vain
Third athought lost
I coast the banks of sabatoge
Graze the pastures of fear
Maintain a contemptible attitude toward the information I need
And a grudge against life’s terms
The bulk of my thoughts are all about me
And they bury the thoughts that put someone else first
The strange part about it is I hate myself
I’m an expert at digging my grave
I let everyone around me fracture my faith
Then sit around wishing I could be like everyone else
My ways are fettered in irony
I got a plague called first thought wrong
I’m perfectly broken
And fallibly made
And I try to stay twelve thoughts past first thought wrong
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