Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.
She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.
The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,
Mistake.
(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 2:53 PM UTC
Whatever other costumes might have been hers for the choosing,
She wore the robe of disenchantment.
She should have been taught,
Truth skates a razor thin line that will slice the flesh from your bones
When you try to deny it.
The mask she placed upon her face, a tragicomic mockery of belief,
Its blue-black marks tattooing her cheeks,
Were a constant reminder of her mistaken identity of herself,
Mistake.
(And in that moment of stark realization,
Didst thou not ponder the sickening irony of a life gone awry?)
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