Like Schrodinger's cat, I'm both alive and dead,
I haven't decided yet, how to earn my bread.
I can be a poet or a psychologist, if I just make up my mind,
The specter of losing a self, leaves me in a perennial bind.
When stakes are so large, I can't embrace in a blip,
I can leave it to God and fate, or instead use a coin flip.
With nothing in my hands, maybe the regret will be small,
My future unencumbered of me, just due to the coin's fall.
Can I live with that image, a creature of circumstance,
What happens to agency, about commitment what's my stance?
Choosing one over the other, is painful now, and in times to come,
There's no getting around agony, whether I forego or choose some.
I've made my life-and-death decision, I'll remain stuck in two boats,
If you'll allow, I'll pen psych themed poems, both my poison and antidotes.
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