Man, you're quite the poet. This was deliciously matter-of-fact and cynical. It's definitely going on my favourites.

This poem is flawless. A triumph:

"But I keep thinking to myself how naive the number sixteen is
and how stupid, young, and pointless I really am
But being perpetual with thoughts is like a morphine I'm not willing to administer"

Beautiful. Alive with grace and ugly truths.

Stay well always,
Stephen