And so, she sits collecting her fears
A museum on the walls of her mind
Frames filled with fear of not being loved back, not accepting herself
and another, rather unbreakable one
of her holding on to her two crutches - pride and angst.
She looks down & laughs at the flaws of the other
Yet if she looked closer she'd know
The other is her mirror.
A keeper of pain, she weaves her fears and intertwine the two
perpetuating them further out from her to the closest one, or two
She's blind to her own world of selfish actions.
And others only see the mirage she paints -
An artist, because she manufactures caricatures of herself
A maniac because she's lost and can't find herself.
No comments:
Post a Comment