Why do I care?
Why torture Myself with an inverted stare?
Is plunging into insanity really worth a glimpse at the depths of my mind?
Should I consume
My life with constantly stepping
And bits of glass?
Can I really be the tie that binds?
Is my attempt in futility;
A practice which can never achieve fluidity?
Only frustration fills all voids that I willfully tread.
But if life is anticipation of dread
Than that is not life,
And I am the living dead.