I committed no crime,
So why then do I run?
Maybe I’ve run out of time,
And I can’t stand to be outdone.
As I run, I leave clues,
To divert anyone who stalks.
Random things like clews,
I’ve changed basic characteristics.
Maybe I’m bad at leaving ’em, unless
The detectives are bad at reading.
But they find me nonetheless,
As I try to explain this misunderstanding.
I argue my case – innocence,
They are not convinced.
I plead guilty – acquiescence,
They pick up on the nuanced.
Why is everything backwards?
No one understands me.
Headache and confusion afterwards,
With me no one seems to agree.
But then the detective joins me,
They don’t turn me in.
I can’t grasp it, should I flee?
My emotional reserve, dried like a raisin.
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