#fakeness

By: theblazingpen

A perfect house of plastic lies,

A fragile home of glass disguised,

Its painted halls still shine with grace,

While sorrow rots beneath the place.

The pillars stood like mighty kings,

With smiling mouths and golden wings,

Yet every joke concealed a blade,

And every laugh left bruises made.

The walls that swore to shelter me,

Became the chains that would not set me free,

They bent my soul to fit their name,

Then called their cruelty “love” and “shame.”

I peel the varnished layers thin,

And find the buried skulls within,

The warmth that once had felt so bright,

Now burns my bones throughout the night.

A beacon glowed with tender flame,

A guiding light I used to praise,

Yet every word it softly cast,

Still cuts like shards from broken glass.

That holy light once showed the way,

Now blinds my eyes in cold decay,

The paths it drew so pure above,

Were roads devoid of honest love.

Oh fragile home of glass and pride,

Where fractured egos bleed inside,

One crack, one fault, one whispered truth,

And all the shards come tearing through.

Oh perfect house of plastic skin,

How hollow all your smiles have been,

You once had glowed so warm and bright,

Turn around for me, won’t you?

Don’t you yearn for me, love? Don’t you hear how, with each day, this longing of mine grows?

I say I don’t want it either, no; this is a play for me, words I mold with trembling hands.

But my voice betrays me, a tide always turning toward you. Tell me, should I dare let it? you are the color of my deepest greed, meant only for me to perceive.

How can I make you come undone? How do I keep myself from breaking when silence is all you offer?

I wear it like a second skin, yet peel it off the moment you hold up my chin.

I thought I was the only fool, making you dwell in my chest, writing dirges in the name of desire. I was. Or was I not?

Is it our fault our hearts long for it? Oh Lord, true, won’t You make it? Are our hearts nothing when they’re out of paper?

Tell me, my love, before you go— were we ever friends at all?

You say you would fight for me, my love, yet your lips make a grave of my name; a sin to be buried, forbidden the moment their gaze drifts near.

Turn around for me, won’t you, love? Is it a game for you too?

Who am I singing for? All my poems are letters to you, love.

How does one forget, yet declare you the one for them? How does one live in this split, this wrenched, hankering state? Why don’t you hear?

Now that I am over you, may I come closer? No—no, no.

Why did I sing you this strain? Why did I mess up again?

I hate my odes, for they embody you, for they wear your name like scars near a river that does not flow.

Won’t you tell me how to survive, my love? Won’t you declare it is me? Won’t you, for once, let me survive your enchantment?

-By me (something is seriously wrong with me, also, believe it or not, it was NOT inspired from my life. )