Untitled - September 4, 1999

My sins are catching up to me,
surely and slowly
I am confronted
by the ideal
and my flaws show up.

I cannot hide
from the mirror
where eyes not my own
look out
onto me.

Where lives not lived
fill my book.

Where love is a barren thought
and hate the dominant trait.

I wait
for the day
where I will be free
to live
to die
to love
to hate
to feel something
I have not felt in twenty years.