Composure

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One pull of a string collapses everythingHeld together by sheer mental pressure keeping one’s composure in the throes of a scene A room full of people; all thoughts contagiousTheir influence sets to ruinDon’t underestimate the mob determining It’s pure love to not need them. You can’t prove love to the demons Run from the crowd of people where they lack the sense to deliberateas they fall over their own cast-asides and throw awaysWillingness to inflictIgnorance sounds so certainBreak away from all the tearing down and their obligations to participate It’s pure love to not need them. You can’t prove love to the demons Stay in my nightgown for daysIn the mode of dress, I can takeadvantage of my own space; … Read More

BrockaComposure