Cosmetic Result

Future put the past defect. I don't have the same air of indifference I used to. Too many broken promises put to the sword. I travel to escape but I can't escape myself. Broken confidence. Once again, the construction work will take time to gather up the pieces.

It's hard to find an identity in all this. I unravel at the snap of a finger. Dislocated bones, disjointed thoughts. You hide yourself in a neat little corner. I know you've got an invisible army all waiting to attack if I make the wrong move. Looks like everything I built up was made from wrong moves.

It's always the same, always purifying some kind of denial. And what's the point in that? It's not like that at all. I'm all burnt out. In some regards, the result is only cosmetic, and there will always be another day. Another day in denial. And what's the point in that?

It's hard to find an identity in all this. It's like a hidden mantra. What else can I say? I'll fall in love again but whether they allow all the suitcases I bring is another matter. Light on the feet, light on the mind is the greatest catch to find. Or so it looks that way. What do you make out of all of this?