Faces

The surrounding people never attracted me, which, I assume, was reciprocal. It was mostly due to my curiosity that intruded their persona. When an uninhabited shell discovers the ability to live through the eyes of others, it develops a horrendous habit. That despicable obsession of observing them. It made every person that crossed my path, turn around without a glance. No one would believe me, but I wasn’t investigating them, I was looking because it was interesting to see.

...

Every day, I woke up to a new face.

It’s an incontrollable power who took over my life. I constantly see myself through many eyes, thus it is hardly possible to define my entity. Every appearance has specific features, different depth in the eyes, and variable expressions. Most of the faces look dull and inexpressive, they are shadowing eyes of empty shells. The ghosts would not dare strain me in those moments. I wouldn’t even know the difference between reality or being haunted. With every facade, a different personality emerges. It could be a day where I wouldn’t bear looking into my eyes, or another evening where hatred would glorify my utmost mighty expression. Some days, I feel so confident, that I would wink and point out my fingers to my gait. But on late nights, I’d give my all to perfect my makeup in hope to be seen, accepted or unnoticed.

At moments, my face would be shaded by a hood or a cap leaving me in doubt of my sanity. Occasionally my eyes would hold a sparkling ocean, alternatingly, rivers would be flowing downhill hollow cheeks. There are faces who don’t even care to swipe it, whilst meticulous visages would furiously try to swallow their own hand. 

Every day I am vehemently waiting to meet me. I don’t care how I look, as long as I can feel a breath, a presence, a being. Any face might bring me the joy of living, even if it is through an ephemeral existence. I just know that I cannot be left alone. When those faces disappear, I cannot tell if I am alieve, or even if I am here. Every now and then, whilst the protected nights deepen, when no soul can free me of my faint rantings, I can see it. I can grasp it. The faded white of the floor tiles... The swing of creaking doors... Those dirty stalls...
A delusion wanes away as the blue pills escape the frame. “Welcome to the desert of the real.”

I am used, and I use. For them, I am just a portray of their expectations, beliefs and lives. For me they are the matrix of my reality. They incarnate the avatars that carry me away from bathroom’s walls.

Strangers, travellers, scholars, murderers, preachers, and so many more of them come to me. They all exist in me, yet, once discarded, they all leave me. 

Today is the coldest night; I don’t have any content. The deepest void of one’s soul is a mirror without face.

Image

Attraction

They stand at the back of each other, but still complain of misperceptions

Little did they know that only their reflection might look in their direction…

They say, ‘hell is other people’, but a glimpse of paradise is seen through the windows of the soul

I couldn’t find peace in myself, so I created a dummy disposed to play the game of life

More attracted to shattered pieces than mirrors

Agony was the reason of our drives, since only sorrow stirs florescence 

Rather than in your arms, I find comfort in your shadows

Name me Algol, since my soul shines pompously in hell ‘rows