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Thursday, February 2, 2012

Masquerade.


my charm wears thin around your neck like a weight
I’ve spun every tale that I have in my storybook
your eyes glaze over into mirrors that show my cracks
so I drop my guns empty at your feet

I paint the prettiest portrait of who I think you want me to be
but I’m just a watercolor mess
a Mona Lisa fraud
and with those rose colored glasses you might not see right through me

I’ve trapped you in this perpetual masquerade ball
we dance and float high above those who’ve lost
but the more your fingers press into my skin
the more you’ll feel the hollow skeleton within

I sculpt the perfect rendition of the god you need me to be
but my thoughts are undone
a false Rodin
and with your kaleidoscope my angles are rendered more obscene

I can tie you up with these golden threads
but my masterpiece is stolen by the words I’ve said

I paint the prettiest portrait of who I think you want me to be
but I’m just a watercolor mess
a Mona Lisa fraud
and with those rose colored glasses you might not see right through me

I sculpt the perfect rendition of the god you need me to be
but my thoughts are undone
a false Rodin
and with your kaleidoscope my angles are rendered more obscene

we dance and we float high above this destruction
but the more your fingers press into my skin
the more you’ll feel my hollow skeleton
the more you’ll feel nothing