He is a soldier of his own war

His mind is a weapon of poison

The battle approaches each morning

The enemy grins at him in the reflections

His insanity runs through his blood

His fears invades his soul like intruders

He stands alone with an army of mistakes

Mistakes that represent eternal guilt

He shoots himself with venomous lies

He allows it to flow through his rage

The shooting holes leave raw scars

As a reminder to never let go of who he has become

The scars fade away at sunset

It fades to the back of his mind

Haunting him in his sleep

Cursing him with a shadow of demons

At sunrise it all repeats like a normal routine

It never ends, not even for a second

Therefore, he is a visualante, yet only in his own world

But on the outside, he’s just a perfect stranger.