Scar tissue, blindly compounding then coinciding around my surrounding boundaries that encase me so succinctly, crushing my entirety into binary. Can't you see that it's still me? Or am I looking differently, as I try to be looking more and more like the enemy. How about now, could you stop the doubt for just a second? Imposing all the questions, exposing imperfections at the slightest indiscretion, highlighting you're detections in your heavy hand corrections. Using my incentives for appearing more collective and reflective to impregnate this state of ineffective, overly subjective, following directive. Focusing, inflected off of this misdemeanor, imploring my demeanour to be seated as the dreamer, dismissed. I am depleted, intrinsically and broken, now I've woken. You can't silence me, I'll speak freely as the words they come easily. It appeals to me, to be like the chalk and cheese that separates the debris from the theory of what is more than would be, can't be more than we'll see.
