Red, Egg, green, blue, instantaneous/Instagram/instant/into your life/gone/#inaflash

I am

An illustration of illusion.

I see way beyond your profile and your face and your smile; the hidden weight, the veil of deception and pain behind each picture.

Top trending, most viewed, most hearts, most people

Looking at you, but can they see you? The real you?(do you even see it yourself/Instagram famous ready and hot)

The most interesting thing that I ever saw was that the number one most popular and liked photo for Instagram was a picture of an egg.

Why?

Is it because it is pretentious?

Is it important to like the meaning behind our death?

To see past an egg and truly see its worth?

Or is it to just see how many likes it can gather? An insipid game to see if an egg can get more likes than blonde hair reveals?

What is a like?

A heart?

You can’t tell what that person is feeling before they hit that button.

You can’t see the look of derision on their face and that sarcastic scowl as they press a second longer for that heart.

But I do.

Master of Illusion.

I see everything. I can use my magick

And swipe over your pretty face and see

Who you are.

You are hiding in plain sight.

You are welcoming fear in your grinning, made-up mask.

In my magick pool of light and sun-drenched shadowy stream, I can unlock your profile.

I created you. All of you.

By using your voice and your writing and your filtered instant euphoria.

I saw the models of the world;

Standing on top of the platform of dreams and nightmares. They drink in your envy, they feed off their own hues of inner Death.

I unlocked their hidden magick.

I saw the masses in their hues of red. In your face and gathering tons of

“Love”

But I unlocked their magick and saw their decay and rot. Their boredom and their mental stagnation.

The horror of their real, unfiltered stories,

Their hues of reds turned into deep blues, greens that felt too raw.

I saw all the artists seeking compensation for a blank canvas, a bunch of nothing, “take the money and run” sorts of nothing,

To blatantly make their “statement” on society and it’s devotion to selling out, or some other crap lesion that is wholly without intrinsic weight or value.

I lifted up the veil.

There was still nothing there.

But, it was thankless, too.

I showed the world their truth.

All the lonely hearts that are bleeding from the inside, don’t use veils.

It’s a line of dirty, unorganized, dingy

Unwashed dishes

Toys everywhere

Cleaned up messes,

Hair in knots.

Same clothes days in a row.

Or it’s a perfectly made up house, too clean

And too organized.

I saw it all.

But the pain was all the same.

Grasping, hungry, selfish, greedy,

Arrogant pain.

Why isn’t my pain more recognized than yours?

Why isn’t my story more liked than yours?

Why is a bloody egg worth more than I am?

Each picture I unlocked.

Became worse than a single death. Extrapolated.

The millions upon billions of stories weighed upon me.

They need me, they want me,

They push me away. Violently—to a mother’s bosom, and then to expel, like a dying man’s last horrible regret(recorded and hearted by two million followers)

I saw their battered, brushed, bruised, cut up, dreaded malaise, their chopped up reds and blues

I swirled it around. I changed them all.

All the videos and photos,

No glam,

Just sad

And that was the day everyone saw each other for who they really were—

Mortality wounded but still alive,

Bursting out on the screen.

Screaming. Crying. Yelling. Taunting. Lonely. Alone. Afraid. Terrified. Confident. Too happy. Too angry.

Death was online.

They all did it, too.(one last comment)

They all killed it.(you pushed the button)

They beat it.(you did it)

They wrapped it in chunks, in old, wet newspaper and threw it off into the ravine of bloody, antagonistic, hubristic, artistic nothingness.

And I took the “money” and ran.

I was the veil lifter of a horror story that was occurring under my own beating heart. Cold and hot.

I am

An illustration of illusion.

I see way beyond your profile and your face and your smile; the hidden weight, the veil of deception and pain behind each picture.

In the foggy mist of my landscape, I dip my own veil into the waters of my truth.

No. It’s not a metaphor.

I saw it. I felt it. It wasn’t pretty. I wasn’t ready.

Start feeling yours, now.

Stop looking at this screen

And dip your toes into that icy ravine,

And you’ll still have that heart

Inside your chest(no more followers).