Weapons of pleasure, and moments of leisure you are a war upon yourself. The ragged edge of enlightened and the utter darkness of insane. The mirror just spat in your face. Who would do this to a honest saint. No god, no savior just yourself staring back into the mirror. A mind beside it's self is a weak chain holding up the world behind our eyes. What truth have you when your shallow as a tea spoon. You love the lies, you need to hide. Those eyes staring you down cut you with moments of slicene. How fortified is your foundation, do you need a elaborate idea of creation? Are you the captain of your own ship? Has your soul been wondering for ever? Can you take responsibly for whom you are and what you have done? Are you one who lives or are you one who exist? These questions must be answered from within.
