The Third Side Of The Moon

    Let's twist reality. Blow up with the old fashioned theory of two faced people. It's three.
    There's the lost side, the side we hope we never see. The side we hope it drowns inside of the tears we swallow. The reason we develop the other two faces: ourselves.
    The bifurcation of our personality protect us from finding the pain and agony we gather in us; our true self is our personal dump.
    How badly do we want to find ourselves anyway? It's dump! Where everything we repress are twisted neighbors. That little small town block is the twisted inch of our souls. We have the intention of finding balance between the two oposite personas we own, as that is the persue of the mythical fourth persona: the alter ego. Our perfect ourselves. A green persona - no trash there to be found. Where nothing is lost or everything is restored.

    We intend so much and we reach so little.

    I want words to say for when I get a glimpse of myself, my true self; write them all in a wall and loose my sight in drafts, until they get inscripted in the back of my mind. Then, when my third side is free to cry, it will read my bests to it:
  "I hope you rot, so I never get to know you."
    In return, it inscripts messages all over my skin, scarring it with my own fingernails, with its own iconic language. I suspect it means:
  "Hidden but not gone. You deny me and be doomed. These cuts are the first sign of your damnation. These are warning signals. It's not me who hates us. After all,  it's you who hide me.
    Cut. Cut. Cut. Love, the third side of the moon."