Gaze into it
See yourself
Looking back
Is it you?
Or an imposter?
You can never really be sure
The eyes in the skull
Staring back
Never seem to be honest
About where they've been
What they've witnessed
Who they've touched
Why they look so tired

You just sigh though
There's not much else you can do
For all you've been through
Gets imprinted in your head
Transmits itself outward
And onto everything you see
Into everyone who looks inside
You can try to deny
Try and try as you might
The underneath always seems
To find its way to the surface
Clawing and scratching until
It spills
Onto the cold ground

Suddenly, an opinion is ask of them.
And suddenly, they think they know.
When all they are doing is speculating.

Show them a picture.
And watch them go.
They know different than the ministers you know.

Psychological experts, with a degree.
Speaking about others they don't know.
Then the patients that pays.

The news reports a view.
Which doesn't always ring true.
Even life is a lesson learned.

Then, this's where the psychiatrist come in?
But, what about them?
What about their minds?
There personal habits too.

What , if what they saying is harming you?
Who will start to treating them?
And that's where this story ends?

Just the way it begin with an opinion.
With an opinion of someone that the doctor didn't know.
But, isn't that the way the story goes.

Playin' the game requires common sense.
If you feel you can handle the path of welcoming love.
Then you'll be welcome in house of many women.

Playin' the fool means not protectin' yourself.
For one slip of love can create for you many problems.
Oh, yes the world of a player.

Women becomes like a number.
It's hurtful but true.
Men of multiple women as lovers.
Isn't nothin' but a fool.
But the love of a woman is his tool.
Oh, yes the world of a player.

It takes no skills to be one.
As long as you have some personality and some charm.
Cause to a player.
Women will depart and another will come.

And the women will be call fool.
Least those that feel the need to take care of this grown fool.
But you'll be surprise of those that do.

Sometimes, you wonder.
Yes, sometimes you do.
When you look around and very thankful.
That this fool isn't you.

Is it possible to be a self within a self?
When we whisper the over-used notion, "I would never do that."
Is that merely the hidden internal us responding in fear
in vulnerability
in sacredness, holding onto the hope
that no, we would never do that?

I would never flee down coast line to coast line
abandoning all
recklessly
I would never own a worthy
boyish love
holding it ransom,
giving not even a speck of pink back
selfishly
I would never cloud ridicule
over the individuals that love me and wreak grey
havoc on their hearts
so haughtily
I would never obsess over material
adornment and superficial success
vapidly
Hoping to control others with one look, one unreachable charm
I would never look like a Barbie doll queen
Platinum blonde hair
Golden olive skin
Perfect figure
what a cliché
what a ******* conformist
I would never lick up liquor like a dogged lush
tarring the black of the night
so pathetic
I would never weep in the shower
because of the way someone loved me too much
I would never have a disgusting want to be left lonely
So degrading

I would never let the world turn me

**I would never.