They spoke of grown-up life with silver tongues,
A path of purpose, paved in knowing light.
Yet here I stand where no sure road belongs,
Each choice a whisper clawing in the night.

Leftward, hunger wears a hollow grin,
Rightward, comfort rots in rusted chains.
Behind me, childhood’s doors are locked within,
Ahead, a maze of questions hums with pain.

The clock beats loud—a war drum in my chest,
Each tick a verdict carved into my skin.
No space to falter, breathe, or second-guess,
No room for those who fear they may not win.

If I am lost, the world will cast me out,
And still, I walk—though drowning in my doubt.