At 17, this shouldn't be any trouble,
something so petulant and childish.
Never should I acknowledge it
with this much hurt.
Still, a wave of sadness crashes,
and paranoia sets in,
"It's sure to go downhill,
"from here on out."
Subconcious suppression. It cannot
be undone now,
conceal it, don't feel it,
nobody needs to know.
