Layers

Selfish, keeping myself from high, so it's written. Continued strokes to the face seem to change each dawn for the better. Force myself not to ponder on own, any potential left? Not ready to hit rock bottom, as I was told, baffled on hearing there are lower levels with not much room to move. Forgive me if I've ever analyzed with disgust. Content in one distrustful direction, didn't need another. "Joy" short-lived, counting one's blessings. Wasn't expecting a self-professed guru, who apparently sold millions. Where did all those views come from? Are we all hanging on? Beliefs and avenues... Leave me to my cozy corner; won't utter a sound. I will eventually finish this painting. Then, I'll be happy to be at the front of the queue, showing my imperfections in full glory, watching it all come tumbling down. This won't happen. The obvious is too loud and proud, its devious intent to stamp out the truth, mixing the colors so violently that the upcoming won't have a clue, did we ever? "Out with the old, in with the new" Polished sharp surfaces. Where are the portraits of your ancestors? "It disrupts the contemporary feel, so we had them removed. All our photos are stored on the cloud." When was the last time you looked? "Does it matter?"