I

Over time I have come to the conclusion that in every person There exist endless versions of the same human being Sometimes these versions coexist And take turns to float to the surface Other times one version has to die for the other to be born A phoenix rising from the ashes or a murderer rising in cold blood I can never tell which is which I touch friends that I have known for years And my hand is smeared with the paint of strangeness I cannot pinpoint the difference Maybe it's the hue The intensity The vibrancy Maybe it is the age But I cannot tell I have never been much of an artist