I saw it in a magazine,
on a gloomy indoors night.

The art of deconstructing;
     I read the article.

It took things apart,
but didn't place them

back together.

Deconstructing,

where taking apart
someone's soul
becomes as easy as
unscrewing a box.

Deconstructing,

we take each part and
lay it tidily over a white table.

And we do too,
deconstruct.

Like children unhappy
of their building blocks masterpiece,

we

fall

apart.

Everything we ever thought
we were comes away
with a blow of the wind.

We dissect our minds,
and become like all the others,
broken,
     empty.

We deconstruct and build
ourselves upon society's
stereotypes.

We moun our lawn
of personality,
all of our flowers
gone.

Crushes, smashes,
sounds of death.

We have become
like all the others.

The art of deconstructing,
or as they call it,
the Art of tiding up.