one hundred-three.

you, boy.

i feel for you, boy with no direction.

starring into the face of your crew for
perfection in a distorted reflection that
doesn't even resemble your complexion.

you've created a compass with your filthy hands

causing you to stray the path of identifying yourself

in the face of a Man that is begging for your attention.

still, you're searching for perfection in that distorted reflection.

when will you wake up and understand that you are not even ... you?

you're only who you should hate to love to be. wake up.