My face is distorted like a rejected canvas

Forgotten where I threw my mask, so reckless

The soul of this lifeless body still roaming somewhere

My fingers toss and turn strands of a damaged hair

Carelessly chosen clothes considered decent for society

Drain all emotions that stained my face out of sympathy

Line a smile with a cheap lipstick for the sake of a show

They lied when they said ‘Be Yourself’ I know

She moves in the shadows,

whispering to the devil,

of the darkest deeds,

in the cold and harsh night.

The devil refuses to hear more;

the hollowness never moving away from his eyes.

She begs and pleads,

licking her raw wounds,

but the devil still refuses.

She looks at the devil,

sees the light flickering around in his eyes,

sees the darkness waning away,

and understands,

he isn’t the devil,

that writes sins,

but he is her father.

And she dances in the shadows,

bringing the light back in,

with her father.

I closed my eyes and it was pitch dark. I squeezed them tight and before me colors danced and melded like lovers do.

I was not alone in my colorful darkness. I could feel someone, a woman. I knew she was beautiful. She smelled like sorrow.

The woman who stood before me was not young. She was as old as the sea and the moons and the gods.

I spoke to her, and my words came out dark and lyrical and foreign, for this was not my language.

I said, "What is the way?"

She leaned to me. As lovers did, as the dancing colors did, closer to me. Her cool hands were on my heart spot.

She spoke. There was the lilting tone of a smile. Her words came out dark and lyrical and foreign.

She said to me, so quietly I thought she meant it only for herself. She said, "It is you. It has always been you."

I shut my eyes still tighter. There were no dancing, living colors this time.

       I was falling.

                     I fell.