It always seems that living is nothing, but a pattern of Karma and luck, much like the stripes I'm wearing on my shirt today. Although my stripes are purple and black, most see life as plain black and white, with a sense of senseless love and hate determined to despise one another all over matters of opinion. The equation that we call reason, changes all too much like seasons, as we're left spinning in circles and waiting for the transition that never seems to arrive. I made something, although not like an oath or resolution, just something like a personal intrusion so I can set myself apart from those who cross the street blind, I don't regret for being who I am, and I'll learn to be me with time. As we fall down with the roses in the end, with you still pointing your fingers at me, all over make up and tight jeans, I'll embrace my choice to be different and smile at the stripes you all wear, the black and white stripes that you don't realize is despair.