To speak it out, it remains not the same. I have stayed, though, gulped it all down in the esophagus of my conscience. Okay, agree, it was silly of me, better said I'm silly enough to understand what goes around, that so suddenly turns back to me— not reflected, not at all refracted but scattered, as similar as the expectations of mine. Or maybe, it's me on my part which pats on waiting to be favored by you the way I want. Or it just a mere product of my imagination that has gone wrong and I in no wise to deal with it, the fiction of no base, nowhere has stopped dead in the tracks. I'm no numb, I've learned to turn if numbness into a passive response, and that's possibly how you see me occurring here and now. I'm trying to suffer my lyrics rather than a song, you'll probably dislike, and those scattered rays? I let it foreplay me in shadows and lead me in just glints. Furthermore, don't you worry fictions, I'm reworking on it, I'm unearthing it for, it had no base I'm forging it's the foundation, it went wrong? No issues, I'm red-penciling it. I'm making it sure that if I was in no wise, it makes me wise and could yet rouse me. and if I ever happen again to be losing my track, favor me by telling 'where was I'. ○○○ ____________________________________________________________
