Sometimes I use distractions to keep me from looking at myself. I keep searching for better traits and never find them every perfect me find flaws in the next. I wish I knew what happy was, wish the left brain loved the right and [bad word]  Why can't I just make peace? Why must I fight progress? Ascending up my spine. Open up my mind and make this real. I beseech the divine within me; I chose this and I will make it mine. In lieu of pain and anger I will conquer this with a smile. I can't tell the masks from faces, closing in behind my eyelids. Fiat spells and astral surgeries tower over trying to murder me. Taking what I can, when I can. What I can salvage. Light? Can I get a light?