Calling It A First Draft, Is Really Just My Excuse.

I’ve wasted.
I’ve longed for.
I’ve ignored.
I’ve denied.

I’ve hidden.
I’ve been disinterested.
I’ve cheated it.
I’ve lied.

I’m potentially perfect.
I have options
And choices.
Or so I’ve been told,
In jealous, shrill voices.

I could have.
I should have.
I would have,
But didn’t.
I might have.
I possibly
I planned to,
But didn’t.

I am quick-witted,
Uninterested,
Smart,
Apathetic.
I am wasting,
I’ve wasted,
And continue to do so.

I am insufferable,
Terrible,
wasting your time.
I’m a fool,
With many options,
And choices I wish weren’t mine.

I secretly know,
The square root of eight,
The twenty-seven president,
And capital of every state.
I know the definition of catastrophe,
The symbol for iron,
And my so called “terrible” fate.

I’m wasting,
I’ve wasted,
And still waste your time.