Beauty, with all the inspiration she brings, leaves my grey matter alone to its greyness, until the notion of color is so diminished and love is completely out of the picture.
I am the liar who hates lies. I am the punished child running away in tears of a heart I have broken: my own. I am the creator of beauty or the artist who paints a picture of words, then thoughts, then realizes that it was not a painting, it was reality, or at least my personalized version of which.
I get confused also, and paint confusion with words on a piece of paper and send it to you so you'd know not what is inside, I have no reason to want you to get to know the freaking confusion, but rather to know me, the creator of confusion, and to know what I think of you and what you do, the cause of my confusion.
Alas, there is unavoidable sadness, but coverable. Just like the lies covered with my blinded eyes, for my mind insisted to see only beauty.
I am the liar who hates lies. I am the punished child running away in tears of a heart I have broken: my own. I am the creator of beauty or the artist who paints a picture of words, then thoughts, then realizes that it was not a painting, it was reality, or at least my personalized version of which.
I get confused also, and paint confusion with words on a piece of paper and send it to you so you'd know not what is inside, I have no reason to want you to get to know the freaking confusion, but rather to know me, the creator of confusion, and to know what I think of you and what you do, the cause of my confusion.
Alas, there is unavoidable sadness, but coverable. Just like the lies covered with my blinded eyes, for my mind insisted to see only beauty.
