What’s that feeling where a heart wants to scream but even cries won’t set it free? I can’t be in a city where everyone knows my name, even if they don’t know who I am. We all share the name of Incognito, the shadow that lingers alone in the dark, but aren’t we all waiting to be found? The strings attached to me seem to pull me further apart from veracity. How am I supposed to know where to go? I have the silver scissors in my hand, but I can’t find the will to cut the pathways to the core. Self-destruction is no longer a fun game to play. I just want to be free, but isn’t that what we all want to and can’t be?