Alone I sit, in a room full of people with no faces;
A room that is full of liars and cheaters and scoundrels of their own right.
Facing persecution and ridicule, I'm tired.
Facing friends and lovers and fuckers, motherfuckers, but no one is real.
Alone in a room full of people, it doesn't make sense.
They all lie through their teeth; they lie so much they believe themselves;
They actually believe the mundane excuses and slurs and blurs they spit.
Keep talking, keep tearing those around you down, keep lying to yourselves and the other fakes in the room.
Alone, I stand now separate from the others, but still looking in.
Extraverted, perverted and now jaded by their words, jaded by their worlds: the worlds they've created with their acid tongues and bullshit stories.
Keep speaking, keep lying, keep it up and no one will know;
They think no one will know, but their words are so shallow a child could see through them.
I am filled with disgust and disdain for these forsaken, faceless, people; perhaps they will never recognize the truth of their existence.
An existence so pitiful it is built on mistruths and put-downs.
Put-downs created by their own personal shortcomings and miscues.
They'd like me to shut-up or jump-in; but I say fuck that and fuck them.
If my only punishment is to be a pariah of that lot, I am glad.
This is my face, full of all of its glorious imperfections. I am fine with them and I am fine with me.
I sit back down and gladly await their verdict.
And so ensues the slaughtering of the faceless- my execution.
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