The Picture

In this optical illusion we call life Do you see the faces facing each other, do you see the the vase that stands alone we each of us see what we want to see. Can you say you see the hole picture? What peaces have you put together? We only understand what we want to understand, we choose what it is we see. To be the one who see both unequivocally is the one who sees through the illusion through the world's fog. understanding how we see the world and how others see the world in turn gives eyes to see the why and the what when you understand the why you understand the what.Their is no reason only pain. Pain inflicted and pain received multiple colored truths meant to deceive us all including my self an illusion to hide my pain and illusion to hide my face all an illusion to hide away.

The theater face

Tragedy and Comedy, euphoric and desolate no one knows this wandering soul. A path that leads nowear echoing of constaint tragedy. The other path I fear is filled with constant pain. Ripped this heart out yet their is no pain Just an empty hole wear I should feel. Filled with so much emptiness I guess it's all I know comic how we inflict are own pain. Hidden behind a mask a theater face for all to see the world will never know what is truly me. Inside this hole that echo's fear I she the ripples of hope quietly disappear. lost inside the darkness I see a distant light as I fall deeper into night. I lost connection with the world and faded into a silence within nothing left but coldness to sooth this isolate soul comic that I brought my own tragedy. Behind the face that smiles behind the tragedy is fear of truth fear of unknown. Play a part you are who you wish to be to play yourself so vulnerable for the world to see. So I push away and put on my theater face waiting, longing for the one who looks for my soul that's hiding.

A heart drenched in red wine

I drench this unknown feeling in sultry bliss a taste of unaware an awaken from self :no guilt, no blame, no shame. I hold my soul in contempt this isolation a bitterness directed at myself. I am nothing more than a soft touch nothing more than a sultry kiss nothing more than a woman. A women I am, but in this moment a desire to be anything but what I must be. I seethe with anger hands off me I am not this I am not desire and lust. I am passion and quite a sensitivity that grows. I'm am words and knowledge entwined into a song a lullaby a nurturing that sows. A midnight confession invoked by the red sultry taste of unaware a day were I'm not a women not desire not beauty just ordinary me. Soul is what I desire to crave. Thease eyes a window inside. Please don't tell me I'm beautiful cause I'll think it's a lie. Desires, your sultry kiss show me that love is not about this. If love be desire passion and lust my heart is filled with sorrow distaste and disgust. A closed door no entrance to love understanding selflessness is the meaning of true love.

The real me

trapped inside this body they perceive me as their enemy yet deep inside I know that I'm the same as I will always be. This puppet-master he holds the strings. This involuntary compulsion to do these things for they pull the strings. I am as an animal caged I howl in rage to be free this involuntary cage. I am not what you see, what I've done can't be me. I cling to my humanity distaste for what I'm imposed to do yet some wear inside I'm still simply plain old me.