This place is mine, the feeling none.
Who are you to force your way in.
I ask not of what you bring, only of what you have left.
This is my platform, my disillusion.
And yet you take that which you did not sow.
Can I identify that which causes me grief.
What is there to scrutinise but the reality of this thing.
And yet I am here, while others are not.
I cannot take what is not mine to give.
When did I stray?
Was it convoluted, a misplaced thought?
How long can I occupy with such disdain.
I usher all around me to speak.
Such words have never been so plain.