I've sealed myself in. Laminated all of my skin. Sellotaped my world in bits. I must embrace paralysis. Only in you do we see ourselves. Only in you can we see our end. So sick and so tired of being 4 real. Only the fiction still has the appeal. Builder of Routines. It makes me safe and clean. It crucifies parts of me. But never seems to make me bleed. Only in you do we see ourselves. Only in you can we imagine our mend. So sick and so tired of being 4 real. Only the fiction still has the appeal. How I hate middle age. In between acceptance and rage. Democracy has sure made a fool out of me. But I am the builder of routines