Illusion.

I had never seen anything like it. The shredded wallpaper, stained windows, dirt sunken carpet were only on the surface. if you looked around for long enough, your eyes would adjust to the grime and you'd seeso much more than that. Clothing, a small scratched chest of drawers and an assorted load of smoking paraphernalia, laying next to large ash marks. A penknife. It was all so incriminating. It would be if you didn't know the story behind it and what a tragic story it is. For what is engorged with dirt and convolutedness, is just a portrayal of innocence. And if it wasn't, why was i still here?