Your shelter, Your illusion

coldblooded, halfhearted

this eternal masquerade

 

You are wasted rotten

with mirrors gold;

reflections twisted,

subconscious mold,

ice-cold camaraderie.

Can You See It?

 

this grand divide,

Divine, You’d call it.

Define Your problem.

For I Am

Not.

 

Trapped in Paradise,

squinting at the sun,

shouting anyone who loves it

hasn’t lived.

 

and what have You done?

 

the irony,

iron taste

of Your words always unspoken:

I’m a realist. I’m a cynic.

you’re a child. I’m your critic.

 

what would You do

if Your bubblegum

Popped.

this airtight container.

Just.

Shattering, dropped.

 

your shadow is cold.

the outside, aflame.

your insulation failing.

We are the same.

Added pressure.

Spilled guts,

Spilled drinks,

Spilled tears?

 

my child,

you’re overheating.

Boiling over,

Spilt.

 

don’t cry,

this is only a theory.

 

The bubble

is inescapable.

Doomed to ignorance and utopia,

your shadow follows,

faithful.

 

While I

Bathe in the sun,

Eating apples tinted green,

Light warm on my face,

And like adults do,

I dream.