What everyone neglects to perceive

Is the slimy, black interior

Behind the overdone, extravagant facade.

Everyone is an artist

Who paints oneself

To hide the monster inside.

Brush in hand,

Ready to begin a masterpiece

Since the day of birth.

Everyone writes fancy language

On a blank paper,

But is not a page with words

Just a blank one with someone’s mark?

No one bothers to read

Something in another language;

It cannot be understood.

Then there is music,

A noise with vibrato and melody,

Pitch and harmony.

People delight in creating a fantasy,

A beautiful one indeed,

But nonetheless false.

Rather than embarking on these trivialities,

We should face reality.

(But I am passionate about art, poetry, music…

These are things that make life great.)

True.

But you need to add love,

Or else your masterpieces are lies.

-written in 1999