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The inner pain masked by the Smiling Lips, the more the thoughts burn the more must I bare the wanting Death behind my eyes, the waking terror that is my Life.

The though in my head yet hollow it rings, the fate I see charging at me as the beast of burden my sorrow bares down on me, the wish to make of myself nothing as nothing suffers not, but in the reflection the image of me is already naught.

I see nothing in that mirror but a sad yet undefined wish, a being who forever wants what he cannot be but an A soul left unstitched, a forgotten worn leather babble left in a dusty place fallen to piece as the stitching unlaced, waiting to once more be at an inner peace as when I was when nothing I was in the beginning times at least.