Solitude

Despite you being the only judge, your verdict remains split. My peripheral vision allows me to view a three inch incision at my feet that leaves my sole’s wrists slit. Innocent material darker than pitch black cribs in youthful nature, but bright as eye-blinding sunlight in the morning that faced ya. The outfit of my life remains raw, and I will refuse to change, dirty attire leaves my scent tired but my lack of cents don’t strip me of my common sense. Stress has caught up so I cast lower and fish for a piece of mind to reel in. My mind is racing, a marathon in my mind really and I use a red measuring stick to measure comparative sin For contrast, I offer my blessings as a sacrificial ornament. The final four solutions leave my sins in absolution, but I am not forgiven and have been knocked out of the tournament. Cutting down the metaphorical nets, I’m given my five seconds of fame preceding 60 years of solitude. Master of my own reality, authenticity doesn’t lead to pessimism but does sometimes lead to a glass half empty attitude