insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results

the world is mine, they say
and yet I choose,
to throw it all away
and repeat.

i wish the black was less
appealing than the light,
that peace could satisfy more
than a fight.

if it's not sharp, I can't feel
not leaving scars, it's not real.

elusive are the rose colored glasses
imminent,
the impending destruction
that lives with me,
waiting
in the wings
to bare its snarled grin.

the world is mine they say,
and yet I refuse it
and repeat.