My eyes have been stolen. I know not where they have gone. Just what they see.
Broken skin shows shiners and bruises of a long night. Muscles ache in apathy.
Her mind is weak. Will she break?
Baby blues faded into the doubt and self torturous motions of a warped mind.
Not perfect. Not worth it. Not fidelis.
Will she break?
Black lights show paths and cracks along her weathered skin. Lines of dark nights and fights
That should have been long forgotten in the night. Tears that were cried and hopes that were crushed and blown into the sun of yet another day.
Will she break?
Lips that once kissed all that mattered in a topsy turvy world. Lips that sought out what changed her life. Her goals.
Her dreams.
They lay battered upon a splattered face. Full of worry and ache.
Will she break?
Truth? She has.
I liquefy under my own eyes of dream into what is real. What is me. She. Me. We.
I am broken. Masks hold truth but only for a short time. Life wears down the prettiest of dreams. The strongest of hearts. The purest of loves.
But who will find the key? I cannot give a description. A picture or a poem of its whereabouts.
All I know is what is written. This dream is reality. This crack is becoming a pit.
Dreams can swallow a persons soul. I fear that no one has caught mine yet.
So it will remain. That heart.
Cracking and shattering its shards onto this mirrored floor. For all of my sanity to see.
-B.
