I inhale an unholy breath, then open my imperfect eyes. The mirror distorts and subjects me unto the pain of what must be. I look into the reflection of a blackened television screen, yet what do I see? Colored confusions of the new world, but one that must surely be recorded in the tainted books for the learned. How sad is it? That according to the changeable, but indisputable history books, we must be recorded as to how we are? Wars make no mask, for here we are, with little screens, with painted faces, and with superficial lives put before reality?

I trace back to the older records, and see the condescending views of us, written in persuasive ways where only expository accounts should be? Can we even trust the past? Does the Earth revolve around the sun? Or does it rotate on the axis of our opinion? Can we even trust ourselves? Do we have any fact that theology exists? That the universe extends beyond our telescopes and equations? Did humanity branch off from another species, or animate from stone that has been touched by the hand of God?

We hail nature but oppose it in every way. Attacking the atmosphere with selfish convenience. Eating at other forms of life for vacant slabs of concrete. Digging at the earth for smoother roads. Making our world hollow for the desire for gold.

Is this the godliness of humanity that we have spent thousands of years trying to achieve?

Is justice a thing, or an excuse to forbid mercy? Are killers looking for attention? Why are we at the edge of the galaxy? Hail to the darkness, but forget my name, I am the night, the one you praise. My stars give you life, yet you shun them away. Why are we, humans, so needlessly obsessed with ourselves?

Maybe we need to lose all order. To remain in a state of anarchy for a time. So we may learn, so we may understand. Symbols mean nothing, yet we worship them like they are everything. Does faith mean anything, or is it just an excuse to be stubborn?

Humanity is broken, and we cannot fix it in just one day.