Memoirs.

All those nameless faces crawl up to the surface, as if reaching out for something to hold.
All those wordless cries resonate in a continuous beat, as if their last breath has to be heard.
Who are they that live hidden by a forced facade shielding them from the liberty they ought to have?
Who are we that turn away our exposed appearance so we won’t have to care?

Ignorance is bliss.

Delight for some, death for others.
Not tangible, but one that slowly takes away every little bit of you.
Leaving only nothingness.
Vacuum, nonexistence, emptiness, void.

Naked vulnerability.

And then it's you who's shouting unspoken, but no one listens; too busy turning away.
Now you are the one trying to rip that cover from your face to find only your reflection is foreign.
You past is forgotten, your future unknown.
All that you are is here;


A nameless face.