Playing the act of life
countless actors are wearing liquid masks
shaped to convey faceless feelings and amplify their voice
persona's threads weave together all the gods beneath the flesh

one, none, one thousand interpretations of each shade of the
living reflection engaging copies of its aloneness

and beneath the dress, the core of existence fights
to break free from the curse cast upon him by stranger eyes
trying to find the way, he's supposed to be living by
squelching through the mud of his prejudice, self told lies

oh, now I see
what I believed
to be me is but
one, none, one thousand me

questioning iterations of his changing, unique being
under the weight of their answers cramble his wisdom and beliefs

about the one he thought the rest of the world perceived
and the face he pictured as the image he built for them to see
but the truth he owned was just a depicted sheet
ripped apart by one, cold, enlightening line of speech

is all I've ever known a fraud?
was I schooled to play a role?

see this face the way you decide to see
narrow tunnels of subjectivity
one, none, one thousand me

can you see my face when you look at me?
has it the same form that the mirror shows?
do we speak the same language anyway?
cause I feel so alone
do you spare some love?



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