I was never good.
At growing up.

I still.

Get high.
Sleep too late.
Hate myself.
With teenage angst.

Never once did.
I come around  to these.
Inevitable life lessons.
I was supposed to find in the meandering.
Of life.

I still get arrested.
Still run from my problems.
Don't want no wife.
No long term friends.

Nothing to bind me to reality.
As though I'm playing the game of life.
Correctly.

I keep making temporary solutions.
Permanent.
Bad choices.

I
Ain't got no white picket house.
No long term girlfriend.
I'm hardly ever sober.

Milling about in the ennui.
Of poverty.
Tons of time.
Nothing to buy.

It's still the herb
That comforts me.
As though I"m still 16.

With me and my neurosis.
These learned behaviours I taught myself.
Aren't,
Exactly functional.

I'll be something.
Someday.
Somehow.

I guess.

It's not that important.

I'm just.
Waiting to die.

At any age.