I stare guiltily at bloodied hands. Covered in gore and vicissitudes.

Look what your careless hands have wrought.
Bent double under itself. Neck bowed under the weight of it's own self-importance. Eyes milky and filmed with the lesions of choice blindness. The disdain in it's eyes whisper snippets of self-righteousness.

This is what your hubris has made. An imperfect, mythical creature of pristine opalescence... mangled into a terror of familiar amber features.
Tempered with ignorance. Set in flaw.

Look again at what your faltering attention has shaped. And lament.

10:21 p.m. - 2014-08-31