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?