Embody your original self, dismay your fake self.

I am maintaining an FB account
Posting intellectual stuff only,
Things that stir the mind of my social-networking friends
By this, they will perceive me as a deep person

I am an usher in a Christian church
Giving my biggest effort to serve,
Accommodating and presentable as possible
For people to think that I am mature

I have my own network of friends
Where I can express hope, faith, and love
(In times of despair and grief, at least make it
sound that you are overcoming it)
To portray that I am reliable, independent, and a man of faith

But here in our secret place
Everything is authentic, real, and sincere
Sugarcoating exists no more
Vulnerability and honesty surely steal the show

The moment I lock the door and open the bible
And we start a conversation
I know for sure that I cannot fake it
What do you expect from Someone who can see your inner being?

This time, without a doubt, I am free
To tell everything without the fear of being judged
To argue without the feeling of being condemned
To cry and accept that I am desperate and needy

No wonder I love our time, in this secret place
A time for unbelief and faith
A time for loathing and worship
A time to be Nixen

I fall in love with people
and their ability to be vulnerable
because it takes courage
to be real, human
in a world full of photo copies
To come across something
genuine or authentic
is a rarity
and I find myself loving
and admiring that

his presence stained long
after his glitter
wore thin

uncaring that
his hollow self
festered

puerile jokes regaled
spawning an
ingratiating syrup

of slick deception
fashioned by conceit to
fool most

but the astute
who sensed a rank
dearth of authenticity

long lost
to the lure of
common expediency

An inquisitive mind—flourished from oppression into a cave as rich as Reed mine
Where tourists can flood my thoughts
Pick at my gold and sell it for their lives
Stabilizing their own
While weakening my historic rise
Greed increases, and relationships are seceded
Because everyone wants to obtain sacred pieces

 
Wandering through pixels of distorted visions
Gatherers become hunters
Painting with blood, their own ambitions
Setting standards for the continuing generations
In turn, a figurative genocide
For the sake of remaining proclamations
Paralyzing, terrorizing, and destroying indifferent others

 
If time manipulates unfortunate events, perhaps the solution
Is just the opposite
Creatures of habit soon face an evolution
Once protagonists reach a state of lucid retribution
It defines them as antagonists playing a role of uncanny acts
The renowned vigilantes use time as their sword
To reenact their own demise and call unto their lord


Scattered within the affluent cave
The people and their children
And their children's children
Are enslaved, digging their own graves while being influenced by vacuous hopes and darkened shapes
The repetitive motions devolved into psychopathic notions
They attempted to escape but were punished for breaking the rotation
Whipped, humiliated, and shamed
The cave insulated the pain
By offering priceless artifacts
Within my knowledgeable den