Plaster faces judge my thoughts
like trees upon a flower's bloom,
I confess my abhorrence for such idle
indecision among faded companions.
They spit their skin upon the floor
like a feather to the mud
they care not where it may land
but rather how long it will last,
nostalgia whispers of my past
A sweet reprise of sin and fortune,
yet another recipe for tears.
Pitted scars seem to dance on the surface
like grass in the wind I see stories
on such placid poultice smiles,
reflections of such subtle notions.
I see mirrors cry and colors fly
like dreams upon the morning sky,
yet I awake to a stark recognition
that this mind is running rampant.
