A misfit design

Consider me your least favorite clothing item worn out in your wardrobe The only time you put me on is when you create a facade of lost hope Drenched with darkness from your mind for how you think of me My eyes a window to my soul The silence liberates the atmosphere for we cannot afford to wake up demons we've put to bed The clock on the wall rotates Anti-clockwise, because we live reality in the past Unforseen sequential patterns of thought occur, reshaping the perceptions we have of ourselves within We start to view ourselves from a third person perspective, for how we tell a narrative without the inclusion of our faults Persueing the masses to our favored judgement How was the end become a plot with us starring as guest characters Every memory of us like a fatal accident, certainly has led to the death of my heart Wandering the after-life of a love vendetta More souls seem lost in a villainous conscious Being led by pain, their context of grieve highlights a file line of dying sane Living the present moment only to have an alterior motive to being absent in our past-scripted dialogues So identical in bondage of our minds it feels like this pain was self-inflicted I am my own mirror victim An author of a story with words I trail down to the depths our their convention The very same words I've said to you containing empty spaces of completion