My unwise automatic head scroll works as such:

Chimeric I am not, so picture me torn against a widening sunset

Some scraped away unstrung bundle of nerves pecking at every direction

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As that indulgence will be my primary focus,

I will determine myself a limited person

Not a grasp of all trades salt of the urge way

But limited to such notions as my insecurity allows

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With inside myself mental foes,

I fall into surface level syntax

My lower brain works to distract from my failing call

As I keen for sustainable life

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Sadly, without dedication to company,

With traits in every corner and none prioritized

How do I measure my second pass?

Moreso, how can I find the path?

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If history is quick,

Luck knows I’ll resist at least this