This feeling of utter displacement
Alienation, feeds passions.
At least theres that (which might be most important in the end)

I’m not cool enough for Montreal.
I’ll never be cool enough, nore do Intend to be.
It’s my twisted reality, thats how I know myself.

Give me bare, show me honesty
without the show.

The rush is everywhere, and its heavy.
The Play (life) is too structured.
Instantly, I’m drained and cynical.
My sis’ life style worstens the blow,
as I try to converse with her friends.
They make me cringe, as they spew out words they don’t mean
or understand, displaying the belief that their lives have most meaning.
They’re most likely fully in the Rush, Center Wing, and the slightest
leftist unconventional ideas they hold is where they draw the line.
Everything else is too much, pushing the margins to uncomfortable extremes.

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