steadily balanced, sturdy, in fist;
the tops go to turvy and I'm left with
myself spinning, missing the gist.
Oh hell with the world, as I see it,
I'll lock myself up till my time passes.
It's hard and it's rough, and I hate it;
chock-full of smug, smart, little asses.
I like myself better anyways.
All whom I meet- bore me to tears.
I'll die alone, at home with nobody.
The reality in all of my fears.