It never lasts…
not long enough.
Always fleeting,
temporary,
gone all too soon.
It’s a tease with
no ‘happy ending’.

Every so often
you get a piece,
just a small fragment,
just as quickly departed,
right as you were
getting accustomed
to it.

A stunning box
with intricate,
abstract designs,
but what you don’t
notice, till way
too late, is
that if you hold it
close, right up
to the light,
you will see the
fine cracks.

You’ll see it start
to chip away
as you scratch
the surface
with your nail,
and chunks of
false paint fall
to the ground,
and you find the ugly,
rusted color underneath
its artificial chiseled skin,
an imitation of beauty
which can truly only
live and shine
within the jagged
confines of the
imaginative mind.

Nothing really brings
joy; not BEING
any of the things
we’re expected
or required to be…
not being a mother,
not being a wife,
not being a daughter,
not being a sister.

Nothing really brings
joy,
but when it seems
you finally catch
a glimpse of it,
even for a small
snippet of time,
you must, painfully,
realize that it was
just your
untrustworthy eyes…

playing cruel tricks.


-by Mercurychyld
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