There is Nothing Behind my Mask.

If you remove my mask, a mess of torn flesh oozing with a red liquid will be revealed.

You will not find beauty hiding beneath it.

You will not find cowardness hiding from reality.

You will not find anything you are looking for.

The mask I wear is not tangible, but rather decorated by the pigmented hues of my imagination.

Sometimes the colors wash away in a murky mess of gray.

Sometimes there are so many colors that it becomes impossible to make out an image.

You cannot strip away my mask, but you can change it's appearence.

I do not need a mask to become what I want;

I simply need a paintbrush.