Stuck in the illusion of what to be,
Nothing more than a ghost.
Pretending to be what,
When really contented being what is.
Insanity at the edge of the mind,
With sanity gripping.
The fox marches proudly for the hunter,
With eyes locked at his back.
Pleasing with trophies of the fox’s work,
Only seeding false trust.
Entwined the two match eyes,
Just waiting for the other to stumble.
