T. 5

Where art, fuck thou, thee in disdain, where do I start, and how, I cannot even begin to explain.. It's the inner confliction, a road less paved war torned addiction.. To the conscience at battle with the man in front of a mirrored rendition.. Pieces mend when reaction has stemmed.. From an old soul, the stitchings are hemmed. Past presently folds, though, scar tissue may mold.. Cope with the fact it consumes the very nature, last hope.. It eats you alive, nightmares eyes wide.. Flashback n forward when it catch you can't ignore it..