The charade is discovered and uncovered;
the lies ignite the overwhleming pit of hate
that was unconsiously boiling, a bubbling cauldron
beneath the thin ceramic surface of life, of our skin.
We are time-bombs ticking unacknowledged but deadly.
We can't hold out forever eventually it will become to overbearing, quickly engulfing us in our one moment of weakness.
Ness to the figments of delusion and imagery.
Blasting finally, our skin gives way and is plastered
across the walls like a painting not yet dry.
The blood leaking to the floor as the building
falls, crumbling around our remains....
We are no longer present.
Existence is beyond our reach.
