Thoughts race through my mind, tonight. In darkness I am cursed to write for in my realm, there’s little light. No pattern plagues this black ink pen, it only bleeds what’s held within. Every evenings dear to me, for ‘tis the only time I’m free.
Free of false facades by day, I cherish every night away. I hang the masks up on the door, I do not need them anymore. My heart belongs to silence, yet, each night I sleep with my regret.
Twisted, tattered, torn am I. I can’t stop asking what, or why. Such sorrow sweeps my tearing eye as I ask myself, “should I?”
How often I gaze back, resent, and wish for ways I might repent. I seek forgiveness not from they, it’s my own conscience I betray.
Twenty three, the chapter is, verse seven: how I choose to live. I’ve no concern for what they’ve heard, I care for only this Proverb. I ask this mirror, eye to eye, a simple question:
Who am I?
How the World Should Work 