I look around,
where does my help come from?
My help comes from myself.
But I can make nothing.
I stumble constantly;
I am distracted and tired, in constant need of rest.
I can’t keep focus,
My attention wanders even during commercials.
I keep myself,
but I’ve killed every plant I’ve tried to keep.
I wither under constant heat,
from pressure within and without.
I keep myself from evil, but evil hides even in my own heart,
my keeping brings no life.
I cannot control where I start or where I finish,
my security diminishes with each passing day.