Words from a Dishonest Poet

The Dark Side of the Moon

I stare into the mirror.

The fog is fading and the image is starting to get clearer.

I don't think I'll ever be able to like the picture of me

Actually, even the thought of it is quite unlikely

Beauty, never something I can really see

Because you see,

my eyes are the most honest forms of brutality.

The thick air does not cloud me,

My vision remains untampered, perfection to the highest tapestry.

But the precision employs my anxieties into a higher casualty;

Either what everyone else sees is orderly

Or only I can see the actuality.

Sharing my insecurity

results in little conformation

Pleads of insanity,

my brain is a toxic nation.

I'm then forced into the stands of defense.

I have memorized all my dinks and dents.

They drag me down, each are mental limps.

Which you can only see, a fraction of a glimpse.

Pleading on my knees for you to understand

Yet masking myself, shielding embodiment of dunce.

To coexist might be logistically banned

But my intent is to act together at once. 

So maybe on day you can grasp

Why self reflection is a question most commonly asked

Why I'm right in the wrongest way

Why I'm not reacting to anything you say

Why my hope may seem low

But only in proportion to my show

My words are ones that lay fault

but the blame is strictly a possession of mine.

One day you'll see the secrets in the vault

but only in due time.