Hurt

By
What's done in the dark,
Will always come into the light,
And your razor sharp words pierce me deeper,
Than any hidden memory.

The childlike innocence of a fabricated alias,
Can be mastered in front of the bedside mirror.
Where wicked secrets hide their colors,
And vain lies are a delicacy.

The ludicrous ideas of an over imaginative youth,
Create false theories of delightful existence.
Where rose petals burst into flame and turn to ash,
Like every attempted romance,
And indestructible tears dissipate,
Before ever having the chance to flow.

I seek refuge in that fantasy, my oasis,
Drinking the sinfully cool words that quench more than thirst.

But dreams are always tainted with thoughts
Of tomorrow and the agony of waking up.





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