Fragile Disillusions



I can change, play god, and break the golden silence

But even I myself cannot shatter it all off completely

I can still choose to climb out of this chaotic dissidence

But the leftover shards scattered will still wound me badly.



Stained glass art displayed grandiosely on old church windows

Oh how colourful, in the soft butter sunlight they glint

I also clasp my hands and pray for someone to paint me so

To fill my transparent boring soul with artistic hues and stints.



Mirror, cracked mirror, on the dirty peeling wall

Why must you show us what we lust, view such superficial calls?

Cold pensieve who serves as our persistent lying companions

Glory be to our bloated egos that you help into false ascension.



Rippling, the spring water lazily flows and relaxes in the calm

Slipping, the tears angrily splatter against her restless palms

A broken child in the midst of the perfect forest garden

Wishing that osmosis would allow the beauty to pass to her skin.



Glassy eyed plastic doll with a painted red smile and the blondest of tress

Elegantly poised with delicate stitches on a stunning pink dress

Little pretty blonde doll, how much longer can you bear the lies

Do those cold blue glass eyes already want to break down and cry?


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