Maladjusted

Can't cope so forgive me I see the world in true form, Not the fantasy easily reached and perceived. Truth is the standing which resonates, a strange sense of comfort It is not negativity, but positivity, in a Victorian fashion of bewilderment It is the pulsating vibe of the bashful butterfly And the satisfaction to the parched throat Gently hypnotized by succulent refreshment And self rewarding. Though dilenquent among others A raw sustenance, in solemn acquaintance I am not alone, though inherit no home And I eagerly await anyone who shares, and begs for anyone in agreement and care This is a DNA molecule and hair