{itÂ’s a beautiful charade,
this dance that we make
under a ruined grey sky.}

sometimes i cannot function
when sitting under bright stars.
when i canÂ’t see, would you
be my eyes? and when i canÂ’t
hear, would you be my mouth?
i hand you tinfoil money for
your service as you walk away
with my sight and voice.

our translucent anthem stems and
echoes across clear glass walls in
the sky. your plastic smile reflects
back to my worn irises and attempts to
melt my aluminum heart, but results only
in the sound of clashing gongs. i know
itÂ’s out there, the white-hot beam that
has a love strong enough to melt the shell
that sleeps around this heart of mine,
and itÂ’s not found in plastic eyes.

{itÂ’s a beautiful charade,
this dance that we make
under a ruined grey sky.}

so white faces and black clothes
surround me as i wait on a hill
and watch the rest of the world
mime in an imaginary box.

03/01/2004

Author's Note: i don't even know where that came from.

and i had the hardest time finding a title i liked... i think i'm sticking with (plastic{nightmares}) though.

Posted on 03/02/2004
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