A disguised farce of lies

I was born
with reversed skin,
like a stolen whisper
from another dimension.
My skin wasn’t
tangible to others,
it wasn’t visible.
And I can’t lie;
I was a snack
to a truth that mercilessly
bite my neck.
/ I hear a crack in my vein /

The truth is that I’m a lie
that needs another lie
to create the original figure of me.

And I found it,
on a postcard.
Two matches that burn together,
creating one flame.
What another metaphor
for love my mind could
recognize if not this?
/ touching thoughts, asking them /

But as we hugged,
the postcard was burning,
and the remains crowded
along with thoughts.
/ they hold me too tight /

The wolves were running,
and none of them noticed me.
I was invisible,
white snowflake between raindrops,
certain at that moment,
until the alarm goes off,
and the world falls from its hinges.
/ the feeling is the same /

I look out the window.
I forget the judgment
of my truth,
that I’m deceiving myself
till I become
whole with someone else’s existence.
I don’t need love,
I need a purpose.
/ truth is manipulation, a disguised farce of lies /

Dimmed lenses and blurred eyes,
and the look from afar is watching me.
It’s like it doesn’t know that
my biggest fear is that
nobody looks through my pupils.
/ I recognize my reflection, am I? /

I’ll turn the metronome one more time,
only to listen to cold blood rhythms,
in the equal time interval,
according to my heartbeat.
/ I hear it too loud /

I can feel the steel band
that cuts through my tongue,
all the words I try to say.

As I struggle to break the whisper,
as I give voice to myself,
then when I hear no one else.
/ echoes silently, whose is it? /

Of all my unfathomable truths,
the world is burning.
/ it’s melting /

It erupts from the lava,
a lie hotter than hell,
in which I volunteer
to got in to check
is the skin like mine
immune to flames.

It ravaged my body,
everything I was afraid of.
/ abuse of injected thoughts /

Self-esteem tells me
to hold my tongue,
/ tightened as it is /
in front of the look
that expands my pupils
and makes them pale.
That’s my look, now I know,
but the truth doesn’t allow me
to jump the barbed wire of lies.
I must walk through it.

And stay pierced.

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