My words of you, now, are hollow of
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Feeling as yours are full of mock-reverence
As my heart was once, for you--
Red herrings, smoke and mirrors,
Cheap glitter instead of starlight--
Don't you see?
It's all for you.
Do you see me
Now that I've stopped wearing
The perfect mask and bearing
The winged shoes you made me?
Can you see me now
That I have fallen, crashed violently
From a counterfeit heaven you fashioned
Or am I below your sightline?
Yes, once I let you make me;
Blank as canvas and begging
Yearning to taste your spurious perfection--
And now I scrub your paint off my cheeks
Until the rough cloth scours my skin a natural red
I hate it, and I hate you for covering it
Disgusted by who I am and who I ought to be,
Ashamed, eternally scrubbing infernal wax
Melted rivulets infinitely dripping down my back.
But I don't know how to describe that
In the face of your inevitable pseudo-brilliance.
I know that one day, your pretended profound mind
Will recall me, and write deceptively deeply
Long and melancholy, and you'll say
She was perfect once, when she was mine,
Heaven and holy grace in her face
Framed perfection in her words
She was glorious and even
When she falls
She falls softly
She falls softly down from towering pedastools...