His Face, The Face, What Face, Why Face

His Face is the brown mush of constant terror inside of remembrance, of disdain, and of pain.

The Face of unshakeable fear,

The Face of nightmares and a whole lot of tears of so many years,

The Face of insecurity and unwritten words and unshed tears for the years that The Face has put itself in my Face.

What Face, that could say so many bad and cold things to one and turn around and be so nice to the same Face that has withstood its verbal abuse for so many years and has tried to see clear what is to make The Face happy or unhappy over and over again.

What Face, can make such an ugly and twisted sound as to the breaking of bones on a winters night under a car crash, under the moonlight, for there must be nothing in this world that The Face truly does Love other than The Face.

Why Face such horrible circumstances as seeing that unjustly Face in the darkest part of my Faces nightmares,

To the point where nothing seems real when awaken and breathing is like running up a hill when shaken and this is The Face that monstrous repetition of skin cells and atoms and molecules that make up a basic human being right down to the conceitedness.