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A thread of spidersilk
hangs between two worlds;
one swathed in stale candy flossing
the other hidden with poisoned apples.
Gracing this bridge
I dare tread upon
are masks of the past
waiting to be worn.
So each time my visage
is disguised with another's sin
I'm mistaken as the hero
who comes to save the day.
But what happens backstage
are the memorable scenes
where words and written ink
deliver the rewarding end.
Regardless, the curtain falls
The crowd stands and applauds;
Roses land at my feet
And I bow, my mask betraying my smile.
YOU ARE READING
THOUGHTLESS │✔️
PoetryThe words The petals On a flower that Thrives by appearance Is only Will merely Be a flimsy Taste of what's inside Why price By the eyes The symmetry Of flawed beauty As though As most Are weighed by Thoughtless ideals For those Four arrows A sma...
