Me.

I am just a portrait, a mural, a sculpture. Something that could have been perfect. A work of art created by god himself; but painted with lies and evil; displayed in museums as well as galleries for the world to look at, stare and judge every mistake, every default and every spec of beauty. Where they can fail at finding the truth behind me. For you see, I am whatever you see. Everyone sees what they want to see, everyone has their own opinion. If you look at a splatter of paint, some see a masterpiece, some see different objects, a splash of life. Others see just a splatter of paint. But how many people would look at me the same if they knew the truth?