Past the shapes and colors
That was all of what could be seen. That of which I despised to my deepest core. I hate it, I hate it, but everybody loves it. They lose their minds, crazy. They rush in mobs like fish rushing down a stream. They reach for it but never seem to grasp it. They see it but never truly understand it. And I, the one who can see, the one who is not blind to it. Oh, but the irony, I am blind but not to it. I am blind to shape and color, but I am not blind to this. I am the only one, the one that can truly see; Perfection is the enemy of humanity. Perfection is what I am shunned for. I am missing my perfect eyes, but what can they say about my eyes? They can’t see past their perfect little lives. They can’t see their perfect little lies; they can’t see the perfect little world. They can’t see what I can see. I see the lies, the imperfections, and the downright monstrosities. I, the one that can’t see shape and color, can see more than whatever you hope to see.