Intricacies of the methods, formulas we use to live, makes the performing more difficult than it already is. The raucous squeezes goodness in things, and all that's left is a hysterical state of tears and a whirlpool of self-inflicting intentions. Dreams we pursue; the sought-afters never end. Lethargic souls in dismay and devastation, unable to discover truth between lines of deceit. The interludes have halted their purpose, to allow time for rest - to breathe. Often, anger overwhelms, to the extent of overtaking consciousness, causing the overflowing emotions to rupture in abrupt ways you always end up regretting over.

Return me my sweet surrender.