Mirrors lie,
so I rely on
self-portraits.

They seem to
capture you,
true and tragic.
Thou lines tell
otherwise.

Do you mind our obscurity?
Do you mind, a mind, portrayed
displayed in waves?

There is, too much, to see.

Eyes closed and
minds eye blind.
All outlets
sweats images.
Great mass
of mess.

Too much, to see.
Too much, to see.