Contorted like a torsion spring;
Tense, like a drawn bow string,
Like hell hath no greater fury to bring.
Energy, begging to be released;
Bearing the brunt of the mortal coil,
As the shuffling forth proceeds.
Brought to steam, a kettle about to boil,
Like a frying pan with too much oil.

Unable to stand down,
A stand-off of an existence;
The tables have turned, now,
Listen to the resistance’s insistence.

I feel like I can’t unwind,
Like life can be a party,
But I always leave my buzz behind.
Trying to find a place to fit,
A niche, a nook for the carving;
A hook for a song, a stitch in time,
Anything to feed a hungry soul,
To save myself from starving.

I can’t relax, nor lose my focus;
Pleasure is not happiness,
What you crave is probably bogus.
Distractions mean running away from reality;
Contraptions and lies,
Falsehoods draped in formality.
They say the flame that burns twice as bright,
Burns twice as quickly;
The hands that are twice as sleight,
Become twice as tired,
Twice as fragile and sickly.

Alas, I know that one day, I will lose my tempering.
I will become frail and exhausted,
Like a wanderer who’s lost his bearings.
My knees will become weak,
My arms will become heavy.
Time and the vicissitudes of fate -
They’ll swing by to collect their levy.

Let that day come.
Until then,
I shall march to the beat of my own drum.