The illusion set before, so magnificently made,
It is for this very reason, which I have not staved.

There are aspects we will never know, some we do not care to witness,
In this world of so many lies, truth is more afraid in the darkness.

All this smoke fills the land, as we peer into our own mirrors,
Attention drawn away, from the problems much nearer.

Looming shadows in the blackness, cancel all our dreams,
Making maniacal monsters, as they feed of broken esteem.

We make our own cage, while whispering about frustration,
Bashing head against wall, in a never-ending occupation.

The only release from this monotony, two blinks called a weekend,
But every day is a battle, the middle of the whole has been weakened.

Still we rise every morning, putting on the same boring face,
Because it seems no matter how hard we try, it is still the same rat race.