I worry about worrying myself to extinction.
Instead of soothing my soul to sleep
I count the things that make me weep

I worry about the flooding
that happens with rain;
the daydreams with no dreams;
emotion with no seams

I worry about songs with no rhyme,
and thoughts that aren’t mine

I worry about elation
and its relation to innocence
and the blaring presence of dissonance

Life makes it more difficult
for creatives to be creative

Adulthood curses us and
turns us into clichés
where silliness is truant
and seriousness ruins

I was made to worry
About things that never happen
And dreams I may never reach
As a trick, as a theft, as a rape
To my peace.

-Silverlake, CA

All content is a L.A. CORONA original unless otherwise posted.

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