All the faces blur to those who have impacted my life...the people who have been my awakening. Somehow they are the key to who I am now and who I will be.
Smoke and mirrors...
Everything happens for a reason. Night blurs to day. What is the reason for that? Why do painful fleeting moments linger so long on the cerebellum in spite of your please that they dissapear?
I'm sinking deeper. Make me, break me, What is real? I'm so fargone now. I want to laugh but I'm too cold to feel.
Who am I? Do the Angels even know, or do they have to ask the devil? When I lose control, who takes the helm?
Riding, lost in time.
Forever, today is on my mind. No bandage could cover the wounds I thrash upon myself. I guess Ive made myself too easy a target. After all, the seasoned thief cherishes not the easy steal.
I'm not myself without all this, but if I'm not me then who am I now?
Looking at myself in the mirror is like beholding an image of an object so fragile you hush so not to leave a fragment of breathe upon it's surface. I move but not to my liking. This is not my namesake, my facesake for that matter. Rather this is the shell left behind, uninhabitable by the creature that has moved on.
