Self-portrait

I faced this man, looking like a portrait, I heard him whisper from heart straight. You’re bold and flagrant frank, voice vibrates with cadence of confident airs, you’re logical, at times tangentially crank, eyes encase dulcet dreams, at times tears In the latent lattice of intricate design, layer on layer, your mind is stratified, the sanguine strata of all assorted hues align, unique psychic patterns are unified. Many aspects of singular distinction hide within the network of your mind’s cipher layers, can’t be decoded by the world outside, the reticent sense of silent self never cares. An insular captive of your mental making, you’re you, an inimitable loner, in your lane you see the aliens walk forsaking, you’re defined by your essence sober. These are the entity attributes of you people view, different from the rest around you, for you’re you. I looked at the portrait somewhat closer, saw this man stare at me from the mirror.