Glassed inbetween two mirrors that stare shame inside,
Worlds are closing black that shuns any air fading in.
Red defines beauty and guilt inside one's rusted garden.
Flowers wither away among the windless souls
Gathering at the edges of the mind.
Century to past and changes remain interlocked
At the surface's core
Where channels of water flush out all insults labled on one other.
Too advanced on dreaming
Of a ghosting time laying the rule in hands of women,
Innocence and dresses is the brand they carried all day.
Always, men trace to burn their strength to ash on their face.
That is why they wear powders and glues to hide men's pity