I Hate That I Can Touch the Ceiling In My Bathroom Walls

I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls. I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall. I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high. I hate how petty tiffs are teeming and I'm asking "Why" I love that I can now explore the world without a care. I love that I can sleep and snore until the midday's air. I love that I have learnt to share and my how I can swim! I love my aura and galore, expressed with but a grin. I hate how all my fascination with the world declined. I hate how sky clouds' animation perished from my mind. I hate how no one's ever kind to me and I'm alone. I hate how alcohol's temptation over me has grown. I love how I can feel emotion t'wards another soul. I love that I can sail the ocean, always in control. I love how in my life, a hole is no cause for alarm. With simple grit and great devotion I shan't come to harm. I hate that I can touch the ceiling in my bathroom walls. I hate that eerie lonesome feeling that I'm getting tall. I hate how e'erything now is small and how I've grown so high. But never will I cease my dreaming— —That I'll someday touch the sky.