"“Sin is a thing that writes itself across a man’s face. It cannot be concealed.”"

"(Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray)"

This is the tragedy of self.

This is Dorian in the final instant before the knife lifts, poised between the beauty he worshipped and the self he destroyed.

When dreams fail and are forgotten, all that is left is thy own self.

But that ego, empty of the previous ideals and aspirations turns to consume itself.

Each indulgence, each betrayal, each cruelty sinks into the portrait’s features while his remain untouched.

A shell of what he once was.

A thin, old canvas on which the beautiful paints have cracked and colors have all but withered away.