Adulting

I find it hard to think a bit, and so I think a lot.
There’s not much worse than thinking when damned thinking’s all you got.
A catalog of feelings is a list of mysteries,
and navigating through them is like drowning in high seas.

I thought I’d get to know myself by twenty-two or -three;
I’d have all my opinions formed and have a girl to see.
Instead, I’m jailed inside my mind and struggling to breathe;
I’m wrestling with the prospect that I’ll never really sleep.

I’m feeling like I’m thinking more than feelings can support,
But feelings leave me empty, poor, and rather out-of-sorts.
I need a Will to rescue me from this, my soul’s impasse,
And take me to a brighter place where I can rest at last.