Oh vulnerability hangover where art thou?
’Tis the morning after and nausea has not assaulted my wakeful state
I hath taken counsel to go forth exposing mine own truths
Dizzy with desire for life after a long slumber
Shall thee be merciful upon receiving my tidings?
Should my new dreams wilt liketh a flower,
I shall not be worse off than my already woeful state
For what would this life be without the crush of my own expectations?
Hearts worn upon sleeves await certain doom
Disappointment mine own constant companion
Where thou shalt I live, a mere peasant, parting with falsehoods?
I shall speaketh again, with reputation stained
And I couldn’t giveth a bigger fuck
