August 14, 2011
This glossy charade draws patterns on the glass that is my mask
These cold icicles I tread on feel more real than your slur of untruths
Listening to the nightingale of irrationality, your world shatters and I step into my sanity
I dread being submerged into the monochromatic pallet of carefully crafted normality
I need an unscripted miracle to help me melt this facade
An unadulterated

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