It's not just
"A phase."
Not just something you can
"Get over."
It becomes a lifestyle.
The lifestyle where
The grey eyes, deep purple souled rule
With shiny silver right beside.
And they'll do anything to get that rush,
Stricky fingers
Or violent palms.
Hunched over on tile floor
When  no one is around to hear,
Smell of burning flesh and shrivled pride mix with
The sound of fresh and
Innocently sweet smiles outside.
But turn and
Look in a mirror.
The glass reflecting is just another tool,
It's all that's in our heads.