Did you ever see the falsity that danced across your face
with any of the many mirror glances that you've taken?
Cold arms swing into a stage-sweet stifling air,
where are you?
In the music?
In the mime?

Forgive me one day for this possible followers act
of trusting the masses for once
on the hunch that most of what we see's as pure as fiction
as sweet as added flavourings
and just as wrongly colourful.

It might pass,
this notion
this inkling of doubt that sprung into my mind
and re-roots when I talk to that voice like jagged rock
painted like a meadow in it's many shades of green
but never holding up to the illusion.

It doesn't even matter
as long as the pointy glass you had to draw your skin across
is cutting deep enough to bleed you out
(and oh,
so long as sound
won't carry through the curtain).

01/24/2004

Author's Note: The concept in my head for this is not what it may appear like. I took a second read and realized it might offend some people I know, who might take it personally. This is not for you.

Posted on 01/24/2004
Copyright © 2025 Trisha De Gracia