Too self-absorbed to look at the stars. The clouds and the mysteries of the world beyond hold no interest to me, the ever vigilant observer. The child sleeps as I make my escape into myself. Lost within the void of the road. She bows her head in supplication to a creator that despises her. She knows. Because of these lips, full and lush. Cascading auburn locks that glisten with morning dew. Hips and long supple legs that tempt men to sin. Eyes that can haunt their dreams. She knows. As sure as a new generation is to be born to carry burdens of their parents and those before them. Armies will rise and fall for her, but with buried resentments and expectations within their hearts. The world is mine and I know it. If she doesn’t need it, then neither do I. Our chains reinforced by the voices within clamoring for supremacy. They know.