Inside my desperate mind, something lurks beyond the shadows, seeing truth in all that is kind and never expressing true friendship.
Ask me for love and I cannot speak, ask me for words and I cannot hear, something evil lurks beneath, and that evil is me.
Perfection is a sham, it breaks my heart, the truth feels like lies because they’re so far apart, ask me for one more thing, ask me for hope – and let nothing be set in stone. Nothing.
If I continue my nightmare, the rage will boil, a poor condition of self patriotism in the face of disappointment.
So I can keep hoping, keep trying, keep failing, dying, sewing through little changes without ever realising.
So through reflection, I scarcely notice, that my insecurities guide my every move.
I have no answers.
The Worb 