I Was a Teenage Poet III

I wrote this on March 22, in the same year as the previous poem (I'm guessing), at 8:38 p.m.

You asked me if I was alive,
Hands covering my face.
Too young to be this bitter,
With much I am displeased.
I feel I cannot know them.
I do not know myself.
Thou shalt not commit adulthood --
When childhood flies, what is left?
And so I wear my blinders
And so I shield my soul
And so harden feeling
And so I older grow.
With this I am not happy
And much would like to change
But all alone all nothing means
Silent suffer strange.
The end comes rushing onward
I continue dreading tomorrow
Some semblance of normality
Desperately seeking borrow.
And so I stand up straighten
And so I pensive seem
And so I look across the room
And so I always dream.