The angsty teen in side of me
has never really died,
I never really silenced him,
although I surely tried.
He resides in me,
deriding me,
and forces me to speak.
He can paint some pretty pictures,
but the subject’s always bleak.
The dramatic over-telling words
will never really stop
’til my angsty soul gets what it wants
and at last runs out the clock.
