Aged he feels, from constantly trying to evaluate the limits of functions as X approaches infinity.
Bandaged he is, like an Egyptian mummy — draped and suffocated by multiple layers of inferiority.
Caged he feels, stuck within those bedroom walls and his little city, for what seems like an eternity.
Deranged he is, an object of pity, and an embittered human being battling with mental instability.
Enraged he feels, due to his debilitating inability, to get the tally of his marks up to thirty-three.
From all his friends, estranged he is — a derelict entity prone to fits of depression and hostility.
Gone with the wind is the pretty girl he still indubitably loves, now he is awaiting serendipity.
Heart has a hole from where his soul slowly bleeds, all he ever wanted was a bit of celebrity.
Inert his horizontal body is, an atheist who is willing to seek intervention even from divinity.
Jeopardized he has a great future — what’s in store for this fallen genius, they ask incessantly.
Kept his eyes away from what needed to be done, and yesterday from shedding searing tears.
Like a fiasco, he definitely requires some sort of a base — in order to be able to stand up straight.
Mysteriously like his self-esteem — all the whiskey inside of his dad’s cupboard just keeps depleting.
No cheers in life though, only a disturbing fear of being left behind by his peers occasionally seeping in.
Oh, it is easy to say he should quit meandering, rejoin the fray and channel his way back to the mainstream.
Pray for a ray of hope is all that his lips can do as his lungs cope with the smoke beneath the skies laden with grey.
Questions arise — why is he unable to understand binomial distributions after so many tries, doesn't he like playing dice?
Rhymes are no reasonable means to depict and communicate what thoughts are getting fermented inside his demented head.
See, it wasn't that he was absolutely pathetic at Mathematics or simply hated the idea of studying, regardless of what many openly said.
Truth be told, the debacle could have been prevented by not being driven by a misplaced sense of adventure, and had the internet not been invented.
Unfortunately, it all culminated to the point where he started to dread making eye contact with relatives and others with whom he was acquainted.
Various sets of discrepancies exist between reality and his dreams — in the end, he simply turned out to be a sheep in wolf’s disguise, it seems.
What does it take to get back the twinkle in those tremendously jaded eyes, or at least pretend that his psyche isn't permanently dented?
Xanax pills are possibly the sole means to calm him down — during the resentful instances triggering his quiescent suicidal tendencies.
Years will have to elapse before his mind can know what is peace, and a guilty conscience shall cease whining to finally be at ease.
Zombies eerily resemble his appearance though presently — visibly and increasingly miserable — haunted, just like cemeteries.