I'm from a place where everything is a mirrored image where I look exactly like me but I got nothing to call my own, and I'm giving up. I never was the one to follow up or follow through. I'm festooned; a parlour goon, at best, I'm two, one for me, some for them and one for you. It's safe to bet I'll never follow through. I got more phases than I got room, and I'm so selfish it's a virtue, amazing, a statement, my own replacement. Don't let those demons inside show through my eyes its my business. What I do is mine not yours. Let me demonstrate this doubt, and I'm giving up. I never was the one to follow up or follow through. And with enough guesses you'll discover every weakness inside this room. Hope I don't show through. I got wisdom to insight moves. And I'm giving the best that I was, fitting these gloves/beating the scrub. I just haven't been able to get mine in years but I persevere. The years gave chase to idle fears still held within a stare. I fled to higher grounds so desperate. Still on my own with my resolve another breath unheard and I'm caught listless in fray.