The attic attacks me, won't back me up in fights with my heart. Dust will conclude how long I've been afraid, cleaned for the dusk; I don't know my name. Wading in rivers for its own trade, confront the buyer at higher stakes than the owner, lower I fall. "Tone down the pain" mediocre control over what I am and what I will become, my thumbs pricked for another accusation. I'll discuss my problems only the world can understand, privated and classified; I am just a man. I am just a boy, and these passages aren't used to show how much better I've gotten, only if I say I do. These words and all the strings of things I can collect, are something much more deep than you'll ever comprehend. you believe I am recovering, because that's all you're allowed to see. Can't you sense the great dispense that one day I'll look up from your feet?