Lived my life at 18

I’ve lived my life,
at eighteen.
In my head
it’s so pristine:
to conquer
soulfully, personally
and be dead.
Not to concur,
unwillingly yet relentlessly,
to that which is said.

To listen,
listen to the natural-
elements of the world.
This empty heart’s only filled
through the desirable elegance of a girl.
This impassioned mind is
practically killed.
My care and love is
impassively spilled.

To act,
act on the corruption I see.
The corruption nobody seems to see,
but me.
Me,
the man
the boy
the hero
the villain,
jaded from this imperfect world.

No promise I can make
that I can keep,
hold back my poetic compromises.
I’m in too deep
for I think too deep
and I’ll write too deep
until the reaper does reap.