A large ball,
of dreams and memories,
A vicious cycle of profanities. Needle and Wine cups,
Dirtied eyes and punctured veins,
An unholy communion with the Most High A wall of glass,
Fragile, bland, uninteresting,
A bowl of radish without its seasoning. Sometimes even the edges of your life
lose sharpness,
And at the end it dawns,
That in that journey to find yourself,
You might have as well lost yourself.