I’m not a picture of perfection,

But I am the Mona Lisa of imperfection,

This distorted picture which you view,

This picture which you judge,

Which you question,

Is my only reality,

A picture hanging in a museum wall,

Being watched, examined, analysed, criticized,

I am that picture,

The one you so often seldom walk pass,

The one which may catch your eye,

The picture that when you stop to stare at,

Haunts you,

The glazed complexion over the eyes,

The somewhat distant smile,

And the disheavled hair,

It’s not a picture of perfection,

But it’s the Mona Lisa of imperfection,

It’s a representation of all those beings walking this earth trying to hide their flaws,

They are not Mona Lisa’s,

They hang on the wall of museums,

Pretending that no one sees through them,

Little do they know, they are barely paintings but pieces of glass,

So transparent and fragile,

That any moment now, when that passing strange stops,

Stares,

And opens there mouth,

That glass, will shatter into tiny little brush strokes,

They will float away into the air,

Leaving nothing but a distorted image of perfection,

Whilst I’ll hang in my glory of imperfection

As the days pass me by like rush hour traffic,

I remain standing still,

Watching people come and go,

Seeing from afar there smiles and tears,

As I stand here, I wonder if somewhere, someone is watching me stand here?

A innocent bystander to this cruel world,

Watching it inflict it’s pain on these tortured souls,

As I stand watching this world go by,

I see the tears in her eyes,

I see the flowers in his hands,

I see old age catching up with the elderly,

And I see the youth self destructing,

I’m watching this world go by me,

And I bare witness to what these people are going through,

The glazed eyes of the women who keeps her eyes set on her destination,

Trying to avoid any suspicious looks from strangers like myself,

I see the young man who is dressed smartly, yet keeps fixing his attire, showing all the insecurities his clothes can’t hide,

In the corner,  I watch two children playing with one another, the optimum of innocence,

The closest thing to purity on this world,but for how long will it remain,

I look to my left and see a broken man, without a home or food in his mouth or money in his pocket, only a suspicious looking bottle,

Little does he know, he’s not any different from the women with the glazed eyes,

he may be drowning his sorrows, she may be hiding them,

It does not change the fact that what they are feeling is the same,

This world holds so much emotion, but we all try to stop and analyse it,

We all walking this disbelief that their pain is more important than yours,

They are mistaken, for it is what we feel that makes us remotely human,

It’s what makes all the lies, all the hurtful actions and all the wrong decisions normal,

We are all representations of our own failures,

Understanding that the stranger next to you in the bus, train, ATM line or restaurant are struggling with there very own existence,

We are all but finely painted fakes of our original paintings. Trying to hide the flaws and present a pretty picture of perfection which does not exist.

As I grow older,
As I see seconds turn to minutes and minutes turn to hours,
Hours multiply by twenty four and lead me to days,
Days turn to weeks and weeks to months,
Where months multiply by twelve and lead me to years,
As this circle of life starts and kisses back to its end, we don’t even know where it began,
This circle of life, which has taken my former self and transformed me into my present self,
This present being is the definition of the walking dead,
Yet some disagree and say this being is a survivor,
You ask a survivor of what?
The answer, a survivor of life, a survivor of all that has been endured,
And all that is endured.
These seconds do not pass into minutes with ease,
Each moment in this life, is lived as if a lifetime has passed,
Yet the moment of despair, of tragedy that looms around her does not pass,
It lingers, allowing every inch of my body to feel this sharp, edged and lasting pain,
As if a sharp knife is being driven through my heart,
And with each passing moment, the knife is manoeuvred a little further each time,
Each new pang of pain that is experienced can be likened to this knife being twisted to the side and pushed further,
Literally destroying my insides, as to having no point of return,
The coroner was asked cause of death,
As he stated natural causes,
A whisper escaped her soul,
Cause of death equalled Life, as someone once said, “Isn’t life always cause of death”.

I wish your were words were a lullaby that lulled me to sleep,
But there silent daggers in this starry night, robbing me of any peace,
Leaving me in a state of paralysis,
Where my heart is beating, my eyes are staring into this dark space and my soul is crying,
Once you were that voice that told these tears won’t last forever,
But the pain I feel, given to me, by you,
Will last forever,
I may not be an angel in the sky yet,
Or a devil in the fire below yet,
But in my every breath,
Each second, each hour, each day,
My last breath,
Will have your name on it,
Even if my soul lives for eternity,
My every breath will be in debt to you.
Even when the sky falls to the ground,

Somewhere in the scattered debris of destruction will your lover lie.

As I stood looking out through the glass,

Into the moving traffic,

The commotion of the crowd,

All I could hear was my heart beating,

This moving traffic, was suddenly motionless,

The commotion of the crowd fell on silent ears,

As I tried to move, I was glued to the ground,

Paralyzed in that moment,

The one that had made all things come to an abrupt halt,

As I tried, tried, tried again, to move,

I couldn’t,

All I could feel was the sensation of droplets falling down from the river in my eyes,

In that moment,

When time did not exist,

When the world outside was not real,

The realization of how much pain I had within my soul,

Pain buried so deep, that it became an ***** within my body,

This *****, had now reached the point of no return,

It had deteriorated into small pieces, which ran through my blood stream,

Infecting, harming and hurting me,

And as I stood looking out through the glass,

I realised that in that moment, I stood not as a whole person,

But someone who was broken from within,

Someone who was responsible for the little pieces that now made up who they were,

Someone who now stood still, paralysed by a pain, which was no longer curable,

Sentenced to life, within her own body cell.

You see the smile,

I feel its pain,

And the accused stands there,

Being guilty of everything but giving me the love I needed,

Sentencing me to a life of imprisonment within my own jail cell,

As each day passes,

I feel as if I was the guilty one,

Giving you what I didn't want to,

Letting you break down that barrier, behind which I stood,

Little did I know,

That you weren't the person that was going to save me from falling,

But you were the car whose headlights flashed so brightly in my eyes,

Leaving nothing but tears crashing in to my soul,

Stealing each breath of mine while I lay there,

I suddenly became a statistic that day,

She who loved, she who lost, she who felt each part of her heart breaking,

As though it was physically possible,

The illusion of an happy ending, was all that it remained,

An illusion,

This made so many like her live life in its utmost delusion,

When you give your heart away once,

The owner of the sparkle in your eyes then belongs to someone else,

And when they leave, they take that sparkle with them,

That is why you only need to look into the eyes of an individual,

And you will be able to see just how much they have loved and more importantly just how much They have lost in life,

For that's why we all walk without seeing,

Sometimes the truth you see in someone's eyes,

Is more than you could have ever expected,

So frighteningly honest and bare,

And one day, when you're looking at your reflection,

You may not even know whose eyes you're looking into.

Only in birth are we real,

Only in happiness are we free,

Only in sadness are we tears,

Only in tragedy are we broken,

Only in love are we naked,

Only in pain are we hidden,

Only in life, are we a fire of emotions,



And



..Only in death are we human..