To hold hope is a dangerous thing
Memories and dreams lacking colour,
living in the glint of light in tears for brief,
and painful seconds as they fall
only to be absorbed by my skirts
Each holding false hope in secret things,
bound to a twisted finger of cruel fate
I hide my face from light and sight
as I breathe life into shadow figures of
Once was, wasn't, and will never be
Undecided if reality is dreamt up by
a cruel child who derives its pleasure by
pulling legs from lady bugs and wings from
Butterflies
And being the escapist that I am
I play out my grey dreams in the fake lives of a family I seem to have imagined
And drown the rest in flowers and filth