You should’ve seen me before, back when I wasn’t broken. Really, I wish you could’ve. It wasn’t always tense and complicated. I wasn’t always damaged goods. Battle wounds have left scars, permanent ones that can be seen too often for me to appeal to you, but for some odd reason, I do. The blemishes can be covered but why bother? The smokescreen’s mist runs out and the façade requires constant, conscious, strenuous effort that isn’t authentic or sincere.