I don’t keep a journal
I don’t bother with diaries
But if you were to look at me
Just once you might see
Such things are of no use
When every traitorous thought
Is printed on my face.
Every second guess,
Dances across closed eyelids.
Every word I refuse speak
cruelly decorates these lips.
And every belittling name
I call myself finds a home
For all to see.
This breathtaking picture is by Flickr's Hecate-moon.
This is raw and the idea that everything's imprinted on the face is true somehow.
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