a tattered old rag
dries a young shining face.
sparkling mirrored fancies
cover a liar and a cheater.
and it’s all the same
to everyone
who doesn’t know any better.
When the music stops
and all that is real is left on dirty dinner plates,
where will you be?
For you to be perpetually
would mean unhappiness
to faeries, to angels,
to gnomes.
and we’ll tiptoe around the
glass shards,
the cracked mirrors
we call dreams.
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Submission Name: tainted.
