As I scratch, peel & rip my face apart, the skin underneath my fingernails radiates colors and textures unbeknownst to me, yet feel close to home. I don´t like the sensation of my remnant skin that sings in harmonies I´ve heard before but have never written. Has this been me all along? But this is me, this is my face. Or is it a facade? Have I been walking around with a face that is not mine? Have I been performing an act all along? As I keep doubting myself, I see a face in my hands. Is this it? The face which I thought was mine? What will I do now? How can I live with myself if I don't even know if I am truly me? I'm not making sense anymore... at this point, I don't know if I'm...