Strangers can’t sense your synthesis.
They don’t know you’ve been going through shit.
You don’t look like you’ve had a breakthrough. You look broke.
You look like you left something bleeding in the bathroom.
You look high as a kite about to be on a plane.
Strangers don’t know what they do to you.
We all betrayed our true selves in a bathroom.
We’re all strangers. In public.
We’re all each other’s mirror.