The castration of commitment-mongers mangling my esteem,
The advantageous assertive ass-wipe allies-turned-adversaries,
They sit in the slime upon my past’s pain receptor paths,
Staring to the light as I burn bright, whilst my foundations do crumble.
On independence I have grown in power, but on isolation I still inflict my stumble.
I do not entrust to belong to anyone, any attempt and I’ve only gone to run.
Two years sprinting from the explorers who have desired my soul.
I am not for anyone’s shelf; long-buried my position as trophy for anyone’s self-help.
My adolescence; half forged in solitude, half in the solitude of possession.
False diagnostics, evaluations, constant perverse psyche invasions
– The pillow-talk of a sour bed that only worsened a damaged head.
Kept me a child yet inside from the fun, I would not grow up till I was twenty-one.
Yet in defiance of these lost years, fears peck at one’s body when I’m no dead man.
Sudden progress and success when not possessed, once in hands of my own.
In-person approached by most as some idiot, yet I am most clever when alone.
So until I am found as equal, I will keep running and running wild.
I will not be pat on the head as some dumbfounded fucking child.
Belittled by every feeling, thought, accident, joke, fling, that is not me anymore.
And friends, if I come to help pull you up, but you pull me further down,
Guess who’ll just stop pulling and no longer stick around.
But don’t be fooled, I am alone – and have hurt souls on my run.
Companionship would be a gift, and from this conveyor belt myself will lift.
I grow tired of the running, I keep falling into the ground.
You know what, perhaps I do need you around.
But not any you; the right you. Only you I can let in.
And I can run until you show up, I am not looking to hurry up.
Because when you do, we’ll be each other’s; not just one being the other’s.