When it's late I scare myself.
I do things I don't want to do,
I am not myself,
I am things I don't want to be.

As I rush through pages, woods
in snow, as I go beyond
my idealistic views,
I creep up behind my back
and point out all the things I lack.

Discipline rejected me,
fears ejected the
tears you see upon the ruined sheets.

I wish I was more than some
unfortunate deeds.