The doorways to the reclusiveness of a solitary soul;
The rehab of a drunken addict.
Narcissism of the common man,
But who am I to call someone cocky?
Me who pities no man, with a lack of empathy and not enough time to sympathise
Me who looks but refuses to see;
What lies plainly in front.
The trickiness of a capricious man;
Remains limited and predictable.
But also leaves people to be;
Should secrecy and sarcasm dominate someone?
The meager black that lies within what is not whole;
But incomplete is what it isn't,
Shall it portray these lies to make obvious the truth?
Or should it remain to be laconic?
To shun others, and avoid being noticed.
Must I loathe this life?