Critic

quill in my hands, i try to write my self
i sit gazing at the desk while i write my self
the mirror infornt of me filled with its lines
filled with strange markings, i feel is full of lies

lies that i wrote, dreams that i searched for
ambitions dipped in venom
thoughts i have corrupted myself with
mere desires that run in my viens
i stand here gazing at the mirror filled with lines

who is to hear what i write
to satisfy whom, do i write
is to pen down the guilt i bear
is to confess to myself to my sins

it seems to me  the sense im ,e has finnaly left
the emptyness around has started to melt
the bonds r being briged,
once lost is now left untouched

i scribble what calms my thoughts
i do what once a wise man had said
i look at the mirror filled with lines
i try to look through those lines
try to find the reflection try to find the face