That knot in the stomach, the one that you fray 
And, you know, since you asked, I’m not doing okay
Coz something comes and separates
The good from the bad and calls it fate
And I’m left writhing in my own admission
Do I need the permission
To wake and then find
All that we left behind 
In the summer of almost prose
And that road
Seems to disappear into the undergrowth
And I quote 
The people who used to inspire
Me when I was seventeen and on fire