old poem

stumbled upon this in my journal and remembered it :

feeling so volatile and ill

the mirrors reflection serves too much justice

or not enough--

In a paradoxical world of self loathing and self righteousness,

I can not seem to find the love

I had once sought

for the insatiable desire of perfection;

I will be left alone in my unease,

to my dismay.

But, should it be celebrated?

My ego tells me so-

Longing for a beauty that is so unreal 

I begin to wonder if this is ever a life worth living;

or a love worth giving,

or a game worth winning.