I am a broken oracle for myself.
My prophecies are all dreams in which I become lost.
My inner compass fails me as I unnaturally fall into lines too rigid to be true,
before dissipating into a fog that leaves me dazed.
When I arise I find my moments are repeating as though any future day is left perpetually pending.
All I now know is that my tomorrow is leaving itself unknown,
anonymous under a cloak of frailty.