I wish I had more heinous sins to hide for all the grief I suffer and for what? Reflecting back past follies pierce my pride Aflame in shame, my heart hides in my gut. Who in their twenties isn't foolish, lewd, at thirty striving, forty-five irate, by fifty overwhelmed, at sixty rude, by decade seven bitter, scared by eight? We act polite, mature, refined and fair, but under pressure we go just so far until we snap, each soul stripped bare. At every moment we are who we are. We're liable forever, but to live we have to stop, reflect, ourselves forgive.

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