Seven by Shamar English

    I look deep into the mirror and see someone who looks exactly like me looking back at me. I don’t recognize that person. This person is a vessel for lust, so he subsides it with a plethora of masturbation, and pornography. It makes him feel filthier than dirty laundry.
    This person is envious. He roots for the failure of others around him. He knows it’s wrong, but he can’t help himself. Old habits die hard especially when you’re caught in a storm of madness. 
    This person is a prisoner to the confinements of his own wrath, he drifts through life being passive aggressive. He wears bliss on his exterior and holds aversion in his interior. He drifts in misery and discontent because it is inescapable.
    This person is a gluttony. He eats like he has no bottom. He eats with stomachaches. He eats like there’s no tomorrow. He eats so no one else can quell their starvation. It’s one of the foulest abuses to convey upon his intestines and others. 
    He is a sloth. He is sloth. He doesn’t work, hibernates in the winter, fall, spring, and summer. The avoidances of living his life is his weakness. He’s invigorating, but always sleeping. The laziness is stitching into his spine.
    This person is drowning in the swamp of his pride. He rejects the avenues of helping hands. He rejects a generation of quality wisdom. He’s the greatest, his versatility extends to every activity. He murmurs it to himself every second. A schism exists between him and his heart, brain, and conscience.
    This person is avaricious. He’s greedy, but dirt poor. He still lives with his mother, spends the little bit of currency he has on clothes, shoes, electronics, and video games. He leaves her to pay all of the bills on her own and she’s on a fixed income. Like I said, this person in the mirror staring back at me looks like me, but it isn’t me. I don’t know who this person is wearing my face.

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