deep down where only one can see. artificial masks melt away. and you know what's really there. poison ivy. the pain that feeds on your soul and doesn't give it back. i can see the vines consuming you. twisting your head. giving you false sight. relentless battles you fight will never end the way you expected or intended. I know this. but you've been infected and it's obvious. your vision a sweet shade of pink. protecting you? from thorns? ..if white is the color of good, why does this feel so wrong? the essence of dissatisfaction comes easy. the depiction of it buried deep. down inside the withering roots. i can feel the hungry plant slowly suffocate it's host. bury. consume. until what's left is unrecognizable. a deceiving face. a three course meal of plastic fruit is her perfected weapon. secretly. it covers up the demons. imperfections. secret desires. there she stews. in her pot of fabrications. waiting for the time when everything will decay away.. the only thing left would be the black hole she's become. finally exposed after being so delicately stowed away. but no. there's no turning back. no endpoint in sight. clinging to sanity. hopelessly like an egg pushed from the nest. the thing that hurts the most, is the thought..... that if you let it all go.. maybe they'll prefer the shell to the yolk.