The Surface

December 23, 2017
By Anonymous

So smooth is the surface,

finger tips glide tantalizing across the exposed skin,

tickling like a feather.


Realisation comes on how truly fragile the surface is,

easily susceptible to the smallest of blows. But the cuts from words and the bruises heal, leaving only umblemished and PERFECT skin on the surface. So it seems.


At the centre a wall made of steel is carefully contructed, layer by layer. Ensuring protection of what lies beneath, self-preservation if you will.  But deep within the centre, the heart yearns to break free of the surface, despite the likely dangers of  uncharted territory. 


So easily perception can be distorted. This 'perfection' before you is merely a deception. With the face of an angel and a radiant smile, who wouldn't beleive this carefully crafted reflection?


There will be no saving grace, no knight in shining armour. This shell of a human will either be strong or weak, be free or told what should be, listen to the call from above the surface or build cities of steel. 

Only time will tell. 

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