Burning sickness,
within us,
becoming us,
like a mirror’s reflection,
we look,
but we are not,
a cheap copy of something that was once meant to be human but now resembles a photo,
no substance,
only flair,
this is the grit of another man’s war…
Burning sickness,
within us,
becoming us,
like a mirror’s reflection,
we look,
but we are not,
a cheap copy of something that was once meant to be human but now resembles a photo,
no substance,
only flair,
this is the grit of another man’s war…
The Twisted Roads To My Madness 