In My Head.

Tripping over broken beer bottles in the streets, someone might hurt themselves. Someone might fall into the mess that's been made across this city and break the skin that once held a part of them together. Rotting fruit squashed up against the walls in suffocation, every last cell turning brown before becoming black; and once dead, cannot come back. This I have learned. A dirty society pushed into a rotting city, graffiti covered thoughts and broken ideas within them, all that is created is tainted with pollution. The windows to the mind, cracked and barred. The doors to our soul bearing nothing but a single hole in which we try to look through to find ourselves, as the handle has been removed. Perhaps the only way in is to break the door down off its hinges. Maybe finding our true self is a more violent and scarring experience than we though. Alas, the door to my soul is reinforced steel, and as the windows are barred I can't get in through there, I must find another way into myself...

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To find ourselves, we have to break into our minds.