Cynical Wordsmith

There are rules.
They’ve kept me alive,
They’ve kept me sane,
And I don’t remember
How I ingrained them so

They were specific,
Meant to protect everyone,
Myself included.
Dire consequences
Drastic measures.

But I can’t see for my fingers
At the path laid ahead of me,
And rains wash away
The notes etched on my arms.
Lost is a four letter word,
And here we are, again,
Searching cobblestones
Searching for anything,

I try and think of what’s changed,
But I’m rarely honest with myself,
So I’ll probably never figure it out.
Maybe only children are malleable.
Maybe I’ll figure it out in a couple years.
Maybe I’m just stuck on

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