This, that, this that,
a brain on overdrive, constantly trying to thrive, a head first mental dive,
into the endless list of justifying, the state of a brain, just trying to stay alive.
Validity in insanity, I drag myself kicking and screaming,
to the reality of uncertainty, to the state of a mind, in a state that minds nobody.
Twenty words, when half a dozen works too, the extra mile a disguised wrong turn,
a hinderance, a testament to the inheritance, of parental ignorance,
lamenting my incompetence.
Alerted at the age of nine, to the cognitive incompletion, of a child destined for depletion,
but nobody bothered to believe them, now an adult, now a victim to a lack of mental accretion.
A fussy eater helped to no avail, left to grow, and left to fail,
a childlike hinderance left to stale, the embarrassment of a grown-up male.
To some, but just a tale, but for me, the final nail-

-in the coffin, that leaves them laughing, at the socially inept department,
of my brain, overheating, the wires cut, the wires sparking,
a fire born to leave a mark in, the lives of all I embark with.

This, that, this, that,
a grown up’s testament to his shame,
a sickness, a decade left unnamed,
But where does the victim point the blame?
At the sickness in his brain, or at those who forget about the stain.

Wow. What a shame.