Hmmm...

Low fruit or high risk, grow through a crisis Or cave to your vices, lose sight of what life is It’s priceless what you can learn from what the price is I write THIS in a state of being that feels lifeless The MIC IS my confession booth, the truth’s timeless Despondent but still hope that I’m known for my kindness And guidance, and never choosing finance over science So let me smell the roses while the sun shine on my iris Is this some form of a cure or just a virus? Disguises; the devils game plan to surprise us I realize this, hence all the effort and the wryness I’d define this as a time capsule of where my mind is