You made a decision,
And from that moment, what lay before you,
Felt like a revision,
To the world you were building for yourself,
Borne on the dreams of youth?
Sometimes I think the myth of adulthood,
Was invented to control the uncouth,
By some bureaucractic downer-machine,
With some misguided goal,
Of eliminating all real comment,
On the purpose of soul,
Which is to love,
Whatever it can find,
No more of this procreation bullshit,
Or jobs that take up all your working time.
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