I wish that I could write objective truth
Untainted by my biased, darkened glass
I'm tripping over nothing in my youth
In future I'll be fogged by foibles past

The narcissistic nature of my lines
Belays the self-defeatism I feel
Is ego not the nature of the mind?
One's inner world's the only one that's real

And so I sit here rocking on the peak
Of saving or destroying what's wrung out
Is my voice one that others should hear speak?
Is self promotion all I'm all about?

Still, while it eases pressures that will mount
I've burned more words than I would care to count