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.