Mask or Face(rachel) Empty faces paint swollen mask's on their body, rotating each for any and all emotion. A sea of faces unmoving, stuck between reality and death, life and fantasy. A faceless mind stares back at a cracked mirror draped in blood dying within the cage, and a scarlet curtain to cover his ability. The face is colourful with nation but the mask is coloured with intention.

Colours match emotion and words represent feeling all within our dimensions and outside of our knowledge, contained in our knowledge and past every known dimension. Yet the colours themselves betray the understanding and move towards the knowing, as a person knows their body but forgets their scars. Colours waver between the lines, always daring the unprepared, always tempting the risen, and always an ally to the fallen. An evil temptress is it, for upon seeing it common ties are made, and deep ribbons are cut. Persuasion is its force of habit, but even the brightest will become grey, over time.

A mask is a symbol of the life lived, and the intended remaining life. It will always be present, and will not stay in the back pocket like a common tool, but instead a weapon of fear, injustice, and horror it will be used for. When backed into a corner, even a friendly cat will place a terrified and terrifying mask upon its face.

No one thing can have a face and mask at the same time. Shapeless faces compliment detailed masks, and shapeless masks cut beautiful faces. Few look behind the face, and all look beyond the mask, lies weaved to save their cracked masks, truth torn to hide their scared faces. When mask and face become one then harder it is to see a human instead a monster remains marked for eternity with paint on his skin. Two people live in one vessel, impossible to determine who controls and who serves.

Countless possibilities all unthinkable by one underdeveloped and primitive, yet there is were we remain. Perfect beauty hidden tragedies, all unknown to thoughts that are spun, depending on false accusations and all to real abuse. The hidden path remains hidden as an eternity flickered by, unmoved by the most active, unseen by the most wisest. Only those who choose one side and do not remain on the sidelines see the vines that grapple away the path. So few are those people, how sad it is.

Now i leave you holding a skull within your hand, the hand being the enemy who slew your friend. Alone are you, an unthinking beast who has nothing but your fangs and claws, a skeleton for armour. Oh what pathetic armour! Salvation becomes irrelevant, survival depends on the hand who slew the enemy, the friend. Until seen the path becomes, scavenging will you do, choosing the side's closest to victory, constantly changing your opinion, always criticizing the unpopular. Little have you realized that the so called 'uncool' are not the ones picking up the scraps of the so called 'cool'. Avert your eyes and see the truth! Don't you realize that here, money IS lifeblood, but to the 'uncool', is nothing more than something to use as a napkin. Their happiness comes not from the worries of people, like all commonly are happy about since they seem to always place themselves there, but instead the joy of their choice.

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