An inadequate amounts of fallibles
All infinitely out of Prose
Unable to comply and undermine, The unknown simplicities of a stranger
The differences held at the foot of a tree,
Standing in an impalpable stance,
Ready to fall at any spec of time,
Discerning trust from many of people.
As if it were a button ready to escape from the sewing on a shirt,
Holding on by a string,
About ready to crumble into the dirt,
But being overdrawn by that single piece.
