losing

i'm holding my breath till i count to ten,

i'm near the end; the pen i hold is bitten

and chewed; my mind is bitter

and bruised at its own inability to be better.

i'm just writing letters to people who'll never 

open it. i'll never learn the lesson.

the lesson - it keeps moving before i can think

before it can sink in my mind, i blink 

blankly - a fumbling mess too slow for this.

the mentor - he finds me unfit, a disgrace to his

skill and patience.

i find myself losing my prudence,

i'm becoming dense in the sense

of it all

i put on a pretense of a know it all.

i don't know anything - i'll just ignore it all.