The Art Of Self-Mind Psychoing

Decisions have stacked themselves high
To be equal of one's character.

Mirror-ing what stands before it.
Gape, gawk as you may,
Hey, you're fashionista in your own way.

Rejoice and regret playing see-saw,
The choice; the fulcrum.

Without hugging this world,
It remains cold of the pick.

Be it a shower of warmth
Or a masochistically delightful crushing wrap

The two doors to knock on,
One opening an abyss; pitch black and unknowledgeable
While the other a jungle of colour and chaos.

What is the opposite of a gun?
What, of many things, represents peace?



I am still in between car and tree.
I would rather remain, than be free.