Wallow--

Just sitting there, hating myself, scribbling on a Happy Meal bag. At least I got a toy out of it.

I am a lime,

To say-- a lemon with a different name

And shade

                With time

I become secondary and sour.

My poor mind--

 

I hate the grime!

Gritty, grimey skin of lost self-worth.

It becomes a crime to ignore the sign

To write a line into the words of time.

My Criminal Mind!

 

Grow up! Get over your dime-

A-dozen fear of wasted gritty time

You are ALIVE! practically drowning in signs!

Your breathing mind--

If you were dead, you'd envy you.