The deception in

I paint with words and write with images, hopes and happiness forgotten.

I sit and sing melodies in the wind, playing with the cards I’ve gotten.

16 years 1600 fears and only 6 good friends, I tell you now, saying it loud, I know how it ends. People often ask, “who are you” and I am never certain, Days turn to weeks, so too do my symptoms worsen. It’s all I can do to hide my heart that’s bruised behind this silly curtain.

If someone insists that I state my name I tell them what is fake, Because honestly my mind is appalling as my sanity is reduced to a flake.

When you ask me what I see, when I look in the mirror, Oftentimes how I respond makes them quiver in fear. The truth is someone as ill as me is little more than what little truth is within them. With me, what’s not on paper is a lie, as everything is laced with venom.

So, I continue to paint with words and write with images all over myself.

Truly at this point I am beyond most help. Is it a lie? A devil in disguise?

So, tell me who am I, I sure need the reminder, I hope and pray that maybe one day I’ll break down this mental divider.

So read the page, see my cage and maybe I won’t break, And remember dear reader… despite my demeanor, what’s not on paper may just be fake.