Life is just a big secret, its resemblance fact and fiction, pause!

I told you of its addiction, yet you refused to listen.

Out of conversation you eavesdrop on my position,

hearing tales of a vision; only to now believe in religion.

Let me tell you a story about its fiction.

Once upon a time you heard a sound go missing, BANG!

Felt like a detective, so you start searching,

only now to see a mannequin trying to compensate for the maker.

See he was made in the image of a man,

yet he was ashamed and disgraced;

reasons of why he was not giving functionally male parts. 

He thought of a family, he thinks of action,

and now that he wishes that he wasn't of relations.

Seeing he was different, his only urge was to fit in with

the appearance that was not giving.

So he ripped his face off of his creator, enraged by his madness.

He had no clue where to put the savage,

by leaving marks, deeper than his sins;

he even blackout to engrave his name upon his skin,

then ripping his body limb from limb.

Once upon a time there was such a thing called facts.

She was the widow of a man who never gave a crap.

He even sunk so low to the point where he slapped her back,

for asking questions like; where were you at?

Yet she was sickened by his touch,

the smell of his breath, and even the look of his regret.

She made mistakes, even cut corners to erase her trace,

yet but few knew of her case.

I a man, looked her in her face, beauty such of her state and

yet she was made of brass metal plates.

How such a thing be left for her grace?