How can my muse be apart from me? It is all that I’d like to be. It could also be the exact antithesis of that, I so love to whip. But the relativity is unmistakable.
I may not have the courage to admit it’s me. Something or someone that once walked on the territory of my life, only to be hated – also becomes an integral part of me – in the dark recesses of the conscious and subconscious – Edward Hyde to the Dr. Jekyll in me.
The shadows have now grown into individuals with a mind of their own. Their actions are not controlled by me, but their existence is. I wonder so often, will the demons disappear if I delete the post?
it’s me, my shadows
pulled apart by masks I wear
grown into new masks