What Is Real?

My arms stayed hidden,
For if revealed,
They’d show no flawless mark,
Only the truth of reality,
It isn’t all butterflies in the real world,
Multicolored works of art linger,
Etched up and down my arm,
Engraving their memories inside my head,
Letting each work of art tell its own story,
One of abuse,
Getting held against the wall,
Afraid you’ll get lose and scurry off,
Held down by the arms of cowards,
Kicked repeatedly,
The last breathe drawn from my lips,
Laying motionless,
Lifeless,
Twitching from each destroyed nerve ending,
Gasping for help,
Finding no hand to pull you from the gray,
Finding it’s only a memory,
Pull the masks down,
Let your arms be hidden,
Reality is merely a dream.©