Doubt and uncertainty,
Plaguing all and sundry.
Is it pleasurable for you?
Feed you on the sadness you accrue?
Boundaries foreign, completely consuming,
Naught but anger and loathing d’ye bring.
Born of my own, cannot you control
Without my permission and submission,
Into your malicious grip I won’t fall,
Cure myself I will of your infection.
To question one’s self is paramount, but to crawl
Into fetal despair is against my constitution.
Go and torment yourself; you aren’t welcome.
I guard myself against you with all might,
Your being and presence most fulsome,
Without you I can soar as a kite,
Free to dance to the beat of my own drum,
To live in serenity and rest fulfilled in the night.