Atelophobia (Ft. Caped Baldy)

i rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and keep rewriting-- but it never feels right fear--fear--fear of perception of being seen wrong of being seen real i write it again-- again-again-again maybe this time i’ll get it right but i don’t i don’t i don’t my mind makes movies-- clean scenes, crisp lines but the world won’t hold still it blurs between tries i fix it then fix it again-again but the cracks keep showing through every frame i see what it could be but the world won’t bend won’t break won’t let me mend i rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and keep rewriting but it never feels right the version i want only plays in my head out here it crumbles it shifts instead i can’t change every second can’t smooth the street or stop the static in the hallway heat this-this-this world ain’t evil--just off a fraction a flicker a frame too soft almost perfect but not and that almost hurts worse than rot every scene could work-- if one or two things flipped if i wasn’t here in this sagging script with wallpaper grief and breath that won’t lift i rearrange my desk my bed my mind-- but the bleak stays and the weight won’t wait i fall asleep in fragments and wake still stuck in the same place i try to trap time to still the shake but the moment slips the frame won’t take i rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and keep rewriting but it never feels right the version i want only plays in my head out here, it buckles it bends then sheds bent back, brain buzzin’, baseline breaks-- built blueprints, but they all flake. fractured focus, fake fixes fade, found flaws fast in the frames i made. panic-packed patterns, i pace, i plan-- pray, pretend, plead-- but i’m not that man. can’t code the chaos, can’t clean the crash, each edit i etch ends up in ash. re-re-rewrite, rewire the wreck, run reruns of rage up the back of my neck. sick of the st-stuttered starts i fake-- shake-shift-shatter--i bend, i break. no one-- no one sees this stage i set, torn text trembling soaked in regret. tryin' to trap truth in tangled lines, but the ink won’t dry- and the shape won’t align. i rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and keep rewriting but it never feels right the moment i need only lives in the draft out here, it warps it fades it cracks i fall asleep mid-sentence and wake rewriting again i rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and rewrite and keep rewriting but it never feels right the moment i need only lives in the draft out here, it warps it fades it cracks i fall asleep mid-sentence and wake rewriting again