Untitled - September 4, 1999 My sins are catching up to me, surely and slowly I am confronted by the ideal and my flaws show up. I cannot hide from the mirror where eyes not my own look out onto me. Where lives not lived fill my book. Where love is a barren thought and hate the dominant trait. I wait for the day where I will be free to live to die to love to hate to feel something I have not felt in twenty years.