Rebellion
misgivings,
bad decisions.
Running through my life on half precision.
Floating away
with every wasted day
not knowing what to do.
But does it matter?
No.
That's the beauty of it all.
No matter what I do,
I can always stand tall.

cripes. what a bad poem. *shrug* it fits everywhere though. *sigh*

Penned by my hand on the 9th of Chronos, in the year 248 AF.