Around

Sometimes I half-forget what life is like
For those whose ways are not only my own.
Not everyone has seen their hormones spike;
Not everyone's wild oats are tamely sown.
Nor does the mass around me really care
Where you have gone and what you choose to do;
And though it seems absurd to me, I dare
Assume they may not even care for you.
How can this foreignness surroundine me
Be made sense of? Or is it all a sham?
For it is hard to think that there might be
Those not in love with you the way I am.
I might prefer to think they all figments
Of my mad mind, dyed with its wilder pigments.