The following scenes are actual footages gathered for this purpose only. Viewer discretion is highly advised
I walk the footsteps of the damed and succumed to their unrighteous behavior. But in the end I regret and I desire to be free. Free from the depraved souls that huants my convictions. I am a villain I am the enemy and I wait, I wait for my retribution but i long for forgiveness. Until then I remain still and yearn to be replenished from my thoughts of soiled illusions.
to which it bonds is an obscurity to my understandings.
Why am i here and who is leading me in this route of desolation.
I turn and i see - a light so bright it burned my eyes. It took a hold of my being. It grew stronger as i struggled to unbound myself. Then i realized. It was waiting for me all this time, waiting to devour my consciousness. How can I impede this beast when all his entire existence he has prepared for this moment to befall. I lay helpless and overwhelmed on the ground. What did I do to deserve such act of crime. I layed back to see if it was still there. As I turned I saw a dark figure. The vision was indistinct but gradually the silhouette takes form. I gaped in trepidation as I discern that the creature was infact . . . me
Each day I stare at it's reflection and gawk upon it's sincerety.
Much to my astonishment, the portrait conveyed bliss and contentment to my blackened world of solitude. I praised for several days for I have found serenity that had long been mislaid. One day the portrait was shattered into pieces. The chunks were laid on the ground as if they were placed on purpose. I watched intently as those pieces abruptly took form. I watched in agony as I realized that the portrait was not for me to see but rather for it to see me. I lay rest and looked upon myself and what could have been if it were real. I could'nt help myself deeming so i asked why and it whispered - for so long I have been a canvass to my painter. I revealed all my colors and hues just to please him. I was his masterpiece, his work of art. Until that day his hands got weary and gave up his strokes. I became his unfinished mona lisa. Since then I tried to demonstrate splendor to anyone who passess by. Day and night I gave my preeminent show. Until that day would loom and I would finally find my painter. Years went by and still I am endowed with sorrow and grief. You asked me why I am not whole. You asked me and I'll tell you why - you see I was never a portrait for your eye . . . . but a picture of a one true lie