WHAT HE WAS AND WHAT HE WAS NOT

Always mistaken by an illusion of what he was not. He was not a heroe. He was not a prince. He was not a huge success in any area that could be thought of as frenticaly thrilling. He was nothing he could grasp, as people refer to other people as things, you know? He dind’t know. He dind’t. Was once quite aware of what he could actually be and what he actually were, potencial and real life. But then he lost it, and things around and about and ahead of him didn’t have those colors we usually see reality painted in, vibrant, polaroid, sometimes even dream-like, dreams are where chunks of reality go to be crazy. You know what I mean. You are not being watched. He was acting like no one was watching, like he dind’t know. But there were people behind the mirrors in his house and his office, in restaurantes and hotels he spent time in, hidden cameras everywhere telling somebody else, never him, what he was and what he was not. He could not even be ashamed of thing he did and choices he made because he never knew.