I set my feet off the course
Where my hands are tired
And apathy is a curse
I long to forgive myself
In things I haven't tried to pursue yet
Hanged a garland as a lonely wreath
For a child's dream is with breadth and depth
But the duality of man and evil facet
I am now a mess of a crumpled gazette
I find it a havoc and sometimes grotesque
That my heart is aching for a lifelong protest
Never answered.
Never heard.
Mind is off the focus, hindsight is blurred
I reside my aspiration
May this being be cured.
For I had to leave out the premonition
Trade my hobby with their expectation
Handle the flasks, create a breakthrough
Is now a dead ambition.
(Can you guess what the persona dreams to be? I'll give an upvote to the first person to guess it right)
To be a writer?