Forlorn Sensibility

Tired, frustrated, anxious,
no good will come of this.

Someone bold wrench me out of the knots in my subconscious.
My conscience isn't conscious anymore. Laugh at the sublime.
The Golden label's gone. The product isn't the same;
the product isn't the product without the identifiable label.
I'm not the same anymore: someone ripped my label off.
How do you replenish what's been lost? How do you
redeem yourself, for all the rot that you've caused?

Tired, frustrated, anxious...
No matter where you take me,
I can't run away from this --
no good will come of it.