It’s nothing but feeling for years in retreat
Never quite the right words
The wrong time, not the place, in between
Now to realise, in part, of the whole
And happy in the way things fall perfectly in place
When there’s not time to overthink it
When you find yourself furthest away
When you’re listening, not raising your voice
For the sake of being loudest

In this room, there’s only you 
And one who argues with the mirror
All complaint and complacency
He has these theories that he tells to himself
Are never fully formed, just construction
Like a building, the sites and plans and briefings
Quotas and budgets and loans
Is it just as the architect proposed
What’s depicted in the artist’s rendering?

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