• I can easily be found lost in my bitterly jocose imagination that only shows itself when I am tightly drawn in obscureness. Upon visitation I utter words my masked mouth would never speak freely to my hosts.

    Let me rend my tongue before I hiss what my demons chant to me among the masses. In this cubist world they nestle in, I am no foreign guest, but still anxiousness exists in my illuminated bosom. Innovative perceptions of tarnished equivalents that I no longer can measure up too.

    All things in life are surreal and abstract in the nest of my discarded knowledge. Let you know that although I am integrated with questionable principles and possibilities I leisure in comfort in the residence which I often sojourn, casting aside my combine functions, leaning on none.

    Absorbing it's entirety into me like an addicting substance, clinging onto me, to struggle is unavailing. I find a twisted serenity and an awkward accomplishment in it all. When I must flee to return to my masked environment, full of heavy white washed spirits and unnecessary responsibilities, texture and form on my painting returns. The colors dip, traveling down and off my canvas, and symbolism is only found in the gutter of the tattered streets.

    I ponder over what my visit granted, expressed, and verbalized to me. I try to timidly accomplish these requests in forms of secret.They are kept high out of reach, much farther from any other, and for good reason.

    As many a time before present I have visited without payment, however nothing is free, not even one's own Eden. Words and looks of a foreign kind peruse me when I try to rest; no harmony can be found here any longer. The roots of my hate, envy, and sinful desires that counterpart me rise from the ground, and as I try to retreat to sanctuary they pull me down.
    Down, down below the soil, below the bones of past, below the pits of hellish secrets and covet, I am cast into darkness.

    There, there is where it took me. There to the one place I dare not ever step foot. In the dissolution I spit upon when it has back is turned. Fears I despise with a murderous passion. They linger in the corners and shadowed cracks my salvation. Without a single soul loitering about they are free to taunt me and burden my core. With this mask bonded so tightly no soul can fathom the slightest indication of anxiousness.

    The mask I spent a lifetime perfecting, painting to absolute, and welded from the finest glass. Once thought glorifying in my eyes, now burns a scarfed pit in my stomach. To be betrayed by your own creation is not only pitiful it is disgusting. There is no other to place blame upon, only myself. So let the stones be thrown and brimstone fall, for I am imperfection.

    May my mask not deceive you, for its a fools trick. May you wish to believe in it or instead, use one eye and see the hidden truth, it is of no concern to me. My main focus will be and always will be to not forget the real me trapped behind my porcelain face. All I ask of you is to find the key to unlock this tightly fitted mask I wish to cast off one day, and for it I will be eternally grateful.