When I was much younger, just a lad of 15 years, I had no hope to live past thirty. The doctors believed I was fine and healthy, that there was nothing wrong. I got in my own way all the time, worried about what could be and fixed on the existence of a failure yet to be. What a waste of worry. I hope you don’t find that same path. Be better than that.

Sometimes
I give it all up for the sometimes
and reading into early laugh lines helps me see
Now I’m just a silly memory
My canopy to can-I-be
I’m creaking at a possibly

So cut a break
I’m just a fake
I’m sitting, drowning in the lake
and nobody could help to set me free

I’m just a narrow escapee