His face plasters against the marble,
Staining everything I love into ashes
Of things I can no longer touch with my happiness.
The shadow he emits wraps around my head
In more ways than the rope of a noose could.
Goldens locks glaze inbetween the sun
Behind the darkness coating on my shoulders.
Breaths are the common things anyone can despise
To the point of finding a bitter taste to water.
I hate the very sway of his walk
And the simple daze on his face
As if all the people and beauty are
Nothing more than mere puppets with crossed strings.
I am not one to be played inside the house of dolls,
Nor will I patiently sit and gleam a delicate ray.
Air can stay the same until the wind picks up again
Along with leaves to rake away doubts embedded on branches.