Spilling over into the crevasses between expectancy and personal limit. Who do you want me to be today? Oh, I’ll secede; follow ridiculous banter and reduce myself to a infinitesimal state until I run out of breath with a raging mind and a pounding aching heart that might explode if and when it eventually it all comes crashing down and—STOP. Where does it end. When do I finally reclaim my vitality and unshackle this possession. When do I finally realize that I need to cut these ropes to prevent myself from capsizing and sink, sink, sinking—sunk. I’ve given up on satisfying everyone. I’m not a perpetual facet, nor am I a therapist. I won’t reduce myself to that level, or yield for that matter. Nor will I accept the lack of ethics that have been thrown at me, like a garbage truck making its daily trip to the dump. I’m tired of all the harassment, the exploitation and manipulation. I am a separate cell, dividing and multiplying at my own pace. To endure, I renounce your disease, this malady—these pathogenic, infectious agents. Stay out of my fucking drinking water.

"And i spent time 'neath the tressels, with the punks and the dimestore saints. Kept faith and a switchblade tucked beneath my coat. And i ran with dirty angels, slept out in the rain. We were scared and tired and barely 17. And my first sin, was the fear that made me old. And i walked down by the shipyards, near the place where i was born, saying "ah maria, if you woulda known me when...". But she just smiles by the light on the navesink banks, saying "listen baby i know you now". And she steps into the river. And i just stand by the moon, thinking 'bout a ghost i hear at night. And she says your first sin, was a lie you told yourself."

Submission is not an option