There is a part of my psychology I have absent mindedly Spawned a breed of prominently distressing insolence As ology glides through my teeth I claw clash combative willfulness I radiate influence and malicious vigilance But O, The very void I dug I’ve grown pertinent to the roots I once solicited slaughter to I am twisted within the roots knotted to an impractical degree contradicting the objective to make myself stronger the roots remain tenacious I persist beneath the tranquil surface Of any other I lean stray and descend into a canyon, A burden to the clock a Balancing act I refuse to live a thief, gaining profit of this Life I have manufactured into a circus of deceit and as dirt clots at the peak of my hands I ingest the debris of heedless weight the sunlight will in time caress my face as I can only dig way complementary to the strength of my nail beds so very frail they plead for a sponge to tend to the condition I have let them rot, decay to their own dismay this sponge like my brain has trouble absorbing substance.