Standing upon a empty stage underneath a lone spotlight.

In smoke rings half filled glasses guilty vices filled underneath the darkness don't forget to tip your server.
The devil thrives in the empty hours, it was designed to drive you insane in these thoughts that haunt you for eternity.
I'm alone with you now take it for what it's worth.

Where do you lines separate?
Where do we say here's where it stops, here's the barrier between my life and you.

I have driven myself on pills and other assorted drugs displayed my existence the demented soap opera for your entertainment.

I am the closest you can come to the razor without feeling the blades cold burn.
Read in comfort while exploring the depths I'm worn from the play.
Squeeze the wound only to gain one last bit of soul upon the page.

As the wolves ask all can we quench this thirst, giving  no regards to ourselves?
I exist on the other side of the window pane.
A stark reflection of the tragic flaw no one should understand better than I.

For their are little rewards in others gain.
They hand you new vices to replace all for which they have stolen from you.
For other's see delusion as a dream, they admire you yet offer you lust in place  of depth.

And the flesh is a favorite vice of mine when lights are always turned low.
You may grasp the keys to your own prison, hold the bars in place of friendships.

Was it all an act?

My friend you tell me.