I was born a gentle soul Reformed with an old jovial wisdom Which was corrupted by the first attack Stripped of my candor and left to meander Until a visceral skin latched to my back
I watched my rivet dreams vicariously All the while from side scenes Spending time refining the premise The fine hemmed edges Were sharp yet crude When tuned to this percentage
The very root of metamorphosis Became an epitome of what I am While walking a tight rope Of Hope's chokehold Invoking me to stand Forcing me to look down With nowhere to land
Echoes of mediocrity only fuel my drive Staving fires from mere survival Into the desire to thrive While every injustice withers and dies I bide my time refining my form While the perfect storm subsides
The strengths I hide Preside just beneath the surface A revival impulse is convulsive therapy Leaving me resolute within my purpose
Uncouth is the pretense To claim and obtruding suspense Whilst I am colluding and fearful Whether I reminisce or remain pensive The time has come to be cheerful
The only power over me Is what I allow to reside And keep me preventive So if I choose to stay inside It's because I'm designing The next in line incentive
After I've repented The only indefatigable witness To my truth is me and God And at times I ask myself Will I know the blister's burden Or fabricate a facade?