I’m sure you’d agree that I’ve lost touch with nearly everything,
That I’m all fresh and green; that I forgot what life means.
But you don’t know me;
You haven’t seen what I’ve seen, and from my point of being.
Nothing that you think means a thing, nor what you would scream to say.
To you, your own; to me, my way.

I’ve spent too much trying to evade, trying to persuade and placate the hate
–Being designated to the shade.
And as I quit your game, my own I create:
To see how many of your corrupt rules I can break.

Yet such is below me.
You’re not worth the time it would take, for something worth contemplation
You’re yet to demonstrate.
Unless, of course, I am trying to learn from your mistakes.