i spend my
nights picking apart
the patterns
unveiling the truth
hidden in a
miasma of lies
seeing through
plausible excuses
as they build up
into a canvas of
hidden agendas

pattern recognition
as a survival mechanism
does as much damage
to my brittle sense
of self degradation
as admitting it is all
so much smoke and mirrors
shatters my soul into
a kaleidoscopic hell

ignorance is bliss
while seeing the truth
is a million painblossoms
in electrified steel wool
anxiety screaming into
the depths of
insular self deceptions
knowing things are
falling apart while
desperately holding on
to as many slivers of
this shimmering facade
as they slice tendons
in a foolhardy instinct
to perserve the dream

i find myself
enthralled by the
individual brush strokes
ignoring the painting
for the pencil sketches
buried beneath
the yellowed lacquer
and globs of paint
seeing it all
while focusing on
the tiny miseries
carelessly inflicted
seeing the painter
strapped to the canvas
embracing the beauty
in the mistakes