the world seems quite happy to
supply me with an endless
stream of distraction, anything to
keep me from what i ought to be
doing, what I agreed to do, or
keep me from looking at myself.
Though now i can no longer surf from
wave to wave of distraction with
any amount of glee.
my youth has been ripped from me.
the things i ought to do loom over me.
i am the origin of ought.