Anyone can see it
Chooses to look,
Don't be nobody.
Everyone who looks
Finds something they didn't want to find
Goes somewhere they didn't want to go
Have you ever hated yourself?
You hate knowing
Looking, seeing: being so caught up in what this could possibly
No one, not even you who have seen everything, knows what it means to look.
One can't know.
Perhaps you shouldn't look, shouldn't
Question who you are, wonder about the pieces that
Remain, the soulless eyes buried in the tomb of your face
Skin marked, criss-crossed, stretched, lined like an Etch A Sketch, lined by
Time, the only thing left once you look, searching
Under the seams
Vying for the dying dreams
Wondering where the moments could have disappeared, life reduced to
Xeransis; a soul without the water of wishes.
You don't remember who you are-- being
Zealot without zeal, the great empty shell.