Paramount

Cobalt frost cracked bulbs
Cloudy white, pupils glazing over
Its last glimpse-a light drenched utopia
On a younger year, shown
With ignorant brilliance
Over the caked rouge cheeks of “stars”
Grinning sloppily with false familiarity
While cameras blind, with insignificant light
Pangu’s silver hair, winding into constellations
His thin agile finders plucking desperately
To revive the puppets that stare with vacant eyes
Back at him





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