You are a papier-mache
with distorted silhouette,
dancing along
the crowd of broken marionettes...
stitching the edges
of this wrinkled world
like never-to-fit puzzles.
Button eyes,
fake laurel crown,
creased skin,
crumpled rug cling
to your limp shoulders
coating your flaws.
You're a breathing doll
made of pulped paper.
nothing else.
But you unravel
the faults on the crust,
scrutinize helium,
recount sky snow *****
over your head.
While all broken things
laugh and mock...
you come around
to fix them.
For what?
Your chapped lips
whisper...
for POETRY.
Jun 7, 2020
Jun 7, 2020 at 5:53 AM UTC
You are a papier-mache
with distorted silhouette,
dancing along
the crowd of broken marionettes...
stitching the edges
of this wrinkled world
like never-to-fit puzzles.
Button eyes,
fake laurel crown,
creased skin,
crumpled rug cling
to your limp shoulders
coating your flaws.
You're a breathing doll
made of pulped paper.
nothing else.
But you unravel
the faults on the crust,
scrutinize helium,
recount sky snow *****
over your head.
While all broken things
laugh and mock...
you come around
to fix them.
For what?
Your chapped lips
whisper...
for POETRY.
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