Everything you see is a lie

I left the lid to Pandora’s box unhinged, so

that I might see some of the light filter down

And feel the warmth of sun-rays in-between.

~

Sometimes the tales that we never look for

Become the stories that we have always told:

Histories scratched into our beating hearts.

~

She’s fragile, nervous, petrified in layered ice

The crystal knight moves to fish her from the

gloom. A brave gesture, it may seem so.

~

She won’t struggle, stricken limp with purity

You’ll wring her dry, smooth out angel wings

And entrap her to your breast’s eternal tomb.

~

Pull back the petals, tear them from their roots

And stamp them into your precious collection

The delicate flower vignette, now preserved.

~

You admire these tireless tomes in your mind,

The mental shelf  of your fortune so wealthy, weighted;

it’s a wonder that you do not cower and break.

~

You keep a treasure trove of glistening corpses,

still warm with the breath of roses that you stole,

and a-fixed so cleanly to your worn secret map.

~

But sometimes I spit fire, to keep myself warm.

I will maim you, I will mark you and I will cut you:

To sculpt beauty from the ashes of your flaws.

~

So tell me: when will you stop listening to me?

And teach me where you were taught to stare

In all emptiness, without the light of a soul.

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