This is not easy, being honest.
If you want sincerity,
Allow me to apologize in advance.
I cannot grasp the flowing fountain of ink
For I no longer write with a firm grip
And my pen slips
Within my weakened fist
I could not have prepared for this
I’ve committed myself to a confining cage:
Produce your best,
I’ll take care of the rest.
They are lies, you know.
It’s way too convoluted to be completely real
Exacerbate the truth until you feel
Use my medicinal properties to properly heal
And follow the straight path: please turn the wheel
Countless scraps, crumpled
Defiled, tossed aside
I’ve ripped apart the dog-eared pages
They are too painful to read
Piles upon piles of dejected creations
Don’t mind me, ignore sensations
Viewed as somewhat false elations
Dropping verse: expectations