I want to brush my hair some more But I'm scared it might fall out I want to paint my face again But I'm scared that they might shout I dream of being pretty more than I do of thriving And dream of being remembered more than I do surviving I cross and cross and cross these trails and cross recross old paths Retread through all the footsteps where once we where so sad It’s nice to revisit its nice to replant But do I garden trauma, like the spineless sycophant In busy rooms all there for me I still feel misunderstood But it’s ungrateful brain, and chosen pain, to say I feel unloved I might be often drama king, I may mope and pout and grumble Even in improving circumstance I still find myself disgruntled I dig and dig, dig out my brain with primordial soup spoon Phantasmagoric memories are slowly detuned And endlessly I rewrite all my histories of you Unstable causality, breathes into tapestries untrue And soon unsure the guilt I feel just comes from my disposition If these proppian dichotomies are just my own rendition Some days I feel the hero, other days I feel the villain Perhaps we are both mutually instigator and the victim I want to think so fickle And live just aesthetic life Because this self-analysis It cuts through like a knife It slices so mathematically Into these perfect halves And the binaries of thinking Can tear my head apart