When I close my eyes, I see all of the beautiful things that one world can ever posses. I see shapes and sizes; I see the vines, as they grow up behind my eyes, and I am blinded by the thorns. A subliminal message, is etched deep into the upper layer; the first sheet of what serves as it's "skin". The bones are brittle, the face has become cracked over-time. It is no longer beautiful, yet remains ever so lovely. Obviously to my eyes only, for nobody cares at all for it anymore.
I want the thorny vine to show me that I am still alive; that I'm still allowed to breathe. With a sigh and a smile, I try to see what beauty you see, in hopes that it will help me catch my breath again... But it refuses to happen. Though beauty, may not be beauty at all. For in every beauty, lies something ugly and grotesque.
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