To have composure, at a time when the funny thing didn’t go right.
I’m slipping deadbolts in my hand
It would come to freeing a sense of wealth, and I’m not stealth.
So steal my compassion, cause I’m not breaking free.
Open this lord, it appears I’ve got a story to tell.
Burden of mystery, I held hostage my own wellness
Made sure I looked good, tired of the escape in projection
Sense covert option less optional to what’s weak. I can sense the danger in our arms, so quick if we’re not the obstical.
So you see, how marks the anniversary of second skin.
No tall poison makes you worrry again.
Fingerless and pitted in distraction. You carried me.
A brief moment to take the chariot through his lifespan. Some questions asked of herself, of emotional space.
Adorn me the right words to save myself.
How am I the same?
A tool of cosmetic help to my fantasy, it is nothing but what it is.

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