black tar

I can say definitively That my middle school years are some of the most confusingly conforming years of my life as, and let me say this properly, I’m a follower not a leader, and yet I'm the leader in the end because there is no conductor no soul just an empty locked meaningless black tar foundation whom in the end only succeeds in stabbing others back, yet violence is the quickest answer to everyone's problems and as for me, I have yet to find an answer to my problems Some things are better left untarnished as rust is a staggering beauty to which i Am not, I am to beauty to what sponge baths are to dirty dishes And yet still, I make my own amendments as following others Is like swallowing a sliver of glass But following others is as easy as Coming to terms with your own problems, in the perfect circle perfection is expected but not guaranteed to guarantee is to make a promise for which i can’t So in the end nobody is perfect because in order to be perfect You have to guarantee that you are in fact perfect otherwise you're not apart from a circle you are an x Standing out does have its own rewards, but rewards only go as far as you truly want them to necessities are overbearingly somber to the point where we can find ourselves, and then we become lost in our torment of our own fancy, so we are lost now which means we must start at the beginning to continue the purgatory or jump into the fire and bleed all over the white walls Which provides us with a reflection of our scar tissue to which we try so desperately to hide…