This image was inspired by the poem/paragragh below, which was written by a Schizophrenic patient ... _____________________ _____________________ _____________________ "Secret identities are a constant rush of flesh. They are not mere mistaken identities. One never quite knows just whom one is speaking to. Killing is verily righteous. Masks are a continuous parade. Masters of disguise are a must. Everyone has a secret identity. They come upon me in threes and fours. The trinity of suffering is like mud. The bog of these secret identities is killing my feet. I am weary. People are constantly coming upon me with their thees and thous. I am in pains to escape it. Making a break for it can shed a mask from one's eyes. Heaven-sent spies are looking upon my cramped hand. Demons come to one's bedside in the night. They can impregnate women, but these usually miscarry. Secret identities are the way of the world. One must lose one's innocence and discover this, or one is lost. Warmth can be male, can be female. When one doesn't know the ways of the world, one is apt to imagine greatness on the horizon. The sunset seems sadder than the sunrise, but both are truly equal in brilliance. Life is too long. Eighty years is a long time to wear a mask on one's face. Eighty years is a long time to cover one's pain over with tasks. Secret identities come at one in guises of pleasure and realities of pain. It takes time to uncover it. ___________________ ___________________ ___________________ ___________________ Being married to a psychologist, I have developed a curiosity towards mental illness and an understanding and sympathetic view towards those that suffer it.__________________ _____________________ (Pencil/graphite/charcoal image finished digitally.)