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It suited to look through eyes seeing paths,
Reiterating the map that had been drawn.
Not fate, my design, predictions, assumptions,
A series of pretty artifices.
Proving me right, yet so much did not fit
but was made to, as miscellaneous.
The subscription has ended, the formula
Providing the glue that bound me, tied me.
To the rootlessness and the stagnant depths
Where I could wallow numb without seeing.
Blanched by people, familiars, protected
By flotation devices, self- devised.
It held against bubbling hot waters below,
Guarding against scalding me to my bones.
But protection now points to the affliction
Of what, I see are becoming untruths.