My self portrait shows a man that the wealth tortured; self-absorbed with his own self. Forfeit a shelf full of awards, worshipping the war ships that set sail on my sea of life. When I see my own self I wonder if we still see a light. We was tight seeing lights speaking right and breathing life now I see my demons and barely even sleep at night. I don't get high, life keeps me at a decent height; as the old me I predicted all my recent plights; exhausted trying to fall asleep. Losses at my recent fights, burdens on my shoulders now, burning all my motives down. Inspiration drying up, motivation slowing down. Young, black, hazy vision strolling through the night.