Old like a pensioner,
I'm reminded,
every waking hour,
of how I'm being left behind.

I'm sat there,
staring into space,
waiting for the world to change,
and love to accelerate leaving me stuck.

Stuck in the past,
where people are how they are,
where they haven't changed into freaks,
intent on destroying what makes them beautiful.

They are just fresh and pure,
and wise enough,
enough to not take risks,
risks that aren't worth taking.

But SNAP,
an adrenaline rush,
back to reality,
what has happened?

They bitterly remind me,
that I'm to ill to be in control,
they have planned to move on,
without a second thought.

I am sat there,
a hopeless mess,
while they leave to get a job,
proving there ability in independents and change.

It doesn't take a genius,
to realise I'm ill,
the anxiety of loss and change,
leaves me edgy and so low.

I'm dying,
I hope someone,
can **** my troubles,
before they **** me.