A Self Portrait

I want to face the tree that hides the grapes.

I want to hide the fake so I can be here safe.

I know I am far away when looking at my desire, for

I hate the fracas that is handed to my teacher.

I never know how I feel, because it is just a cup.

I know when the fake falls and fade fails.

I know I should race so I can wipe the blood up from my face.

You might say I should efface the street I have passed by.

I can tell I cannot do it because the red façade is merely a surface.