| Reflection | |
| Is but a stranger | |
| These strings set rigorous routine | |
| Cracks form, covering my body | |
| Weakened, blistered and torn apart | |
| Revisiting old wounds | |
| Completing the circle | |
| Once again | |
| Swollen eyes fixed on the prize | |
| We hang our heads in self-destructive triumph | |
| These fault lines | |
| A soul erosion | |
| Predictions never became so clear |
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