I rest in self-misery, as the pride of a mirror - to only see
It as I alone, suffering through these trials. My successes are
Mere private congratulations; pats on the back, aspirations relying
On the weight of the estimation theory. As are my days: random
Components, wholly in the degree of alteration

Days alternate between good or bad; often the latter- a newer
Taste of bitterness, to an unreasonable resentment; a sad struggle
Against the Diarrhoea of Complaints- for yes indeed, life can be
So full of ****, and almost in that same mirror, you sadly see
The very crap you’re forced to be seated in,- daily

As a man is the master in his own fantasies; to have dreams
In which they live as gods- their truths all taking a deformed shape
The shape of life being abstract; as what hurt you today, becomes
The foundation to build tomorrow’s strength. So don’t give into
What pain rests on your plate- feeding into its lies; as where there is
One’s fate, lies the fuel of faith. So ask yourself; where on that tank’s
Needle, does your faith tend to want to sit on