Far from real,
A empty shell of a being,
Suppressing its ****,
Many eyes yet blind by all seeing.

A void in its eyes,
Forced to see through lenses,
Human by its lies,
An animal depending on its senses.

Bruised finger tip,
Scattered across different views,
Scraped around the lips,
Broken glass and breath stinks from *****.

Head laid back,
Fingers tap the beats of his heart,
Notebook and a Jack,
Dead besides what once he called art.