Muses, let my thoughts flow as if of ink
Like the great philosophers, into my mind I sink
To see what lies within the areas where few dare to go,
For introspection is a hard seed to grow
While we think we know what makes us tick,
The reality oftentimes makes us sick
The hatred, sadness, and thoughts of death
Leave the sourest of tastes on the sweetest of breath
But with these few words I hope you will see,
The truth in the enigma that is my psyche
For while from all other arts I do refrain,
These are the sad imaginings of a tortured brain.