Inks and Mirrors

Perfection? He lives on the next street

Can never find his doorbell, perhaps I am no that clean

Yet I fight to live with him on the daily, I know he doesn't exist

Addiction comes so easy, that's why I run away from pills

I take a dose of my wins, microscope it and then critique

Then slam corrections to the room upstairs, hoping that it really sticks

Benefit of the doubt? I used to live on that ship

So I guess I am dreading capsules, no matter the forms it is

Looking into the mirror, that's not me

Fist into the glass, shattered while I bleed

Broken pieces tracing their way home on my skin

Eyes up and the walls are suddenly closing in

Cluttered mind but atleast I keep it clean

The only pill I might consider is a dose of vitamin me

Anything to remind me that I am stronger than i think

Pen is running rampant, need to put him back to sleep.