Fumbling down life's boulevard,
with hatchet set firmly in back,
just deep enough for me to suspect
that I had to have put it there myself.
You are dangling love above my nose,
like reward for the right trick,
but your hand is raised higher than before,
and I can't bargain the jump anymore.
Everyone within shouting range knows the right way to mask personal blame
when living off the work of others,
after joining them by default.
Age holds no bearing in adulthood;
maturity, no semblance of considerateness or reason.
One must only obtain the magniloquence necessary
to lie all the way through resenting oneself,
well enough that everyone believes it.
That is what makes you an adult.