The proscatinator poem
Here I am
My conscience beating the hell of me
I need to do what I’m paid to do
But I don’t want to listen to it
I know it can’t be done
My mind is somewhere else
It isn’t even here, in this poem
It left me without a note
Without saying goodbye
And without saying when it would come back
Doing what the conscience says
Would lead to more problems than solutions
I need to run away
Get far far away
Clean up the mess inside
Bring my mind back again
And do what I need to do
Without worries
Without doubts
Be what I am
