I fornicate with the future,
And I lay with its lies.
I stand by and try to understand,

I demand the utmost respect of myself,
As I find myself the sole recipient.

Yet sometimes I stare at my treacherous glass that show'd me the image of someone who isn't quite like myself.

I berserk blindly into the unknown.
I know not little of what lays behind,
Though in retrospect of my mind,
I do indeed know what makes me blind.

What blinds my eyes,
Is what I cannot see in a mirror.

It is my heart.
It is my mind.