Warfare of the Brain

What you see is normal, what you see is introverted.

What you see is a thick veil over the fragmented.

No one knows what's underneath

No one knows what's really happening,

But every once in a while, the wind blows

And a small glimpse comes appearing.

There are eyes that have seen too much,

Eyes that hold the pools of emotion.

There are hands that have been worn from wear,

Hands that have been used until exhaustion.

There is a mind that has locked up deep scars,

Deep scars of pain, loneliness, shattered hope, and rejection.

And there is a mask that covers all of these things,

A mask that is old and chipped from continuous use.

But in the deepest corner of the soul is paradise.

In the innermost depths is fantasy.

The place that is protected at all cost

From the world that threatens to destroy it.

The last piece of the self, of one's self, is considered blasphemy.

Containing accumulated dreams, wishes;

The stars and a moon of her creation,

It is the last piece of happiness,

Forever engraved in youth and memory.

There are some who just see strangeness and craziness,

And there are some who just see boldness and fearlessness;

Only the self knows that one contains so much more.

A person who is afraid of closeness,

A person who is afraid of one's own acceptance.

It isn't that person's fault that the self has to be secluded,

Forced to be sculpted by

The world.

The cracked fragments of the heart

And the whole pieces of the world.

There are a rare few that dare to look behind the mask and the veil.

Needing to be shared,

But forever repressed.

It stays closed to every single person: the veil.

Filtering smiles,

Disguising laughs.

It keeps one safe: the veil.

It will be ok someday,

And it's ok now.

But it's never ready to take off the veil.