In porcelain skin, you seek to hide,
the stains of shame, the weight inside,
you call yourself a doll, a lamb so white,
an innocent thing, untouched by night.

But pink-hued dreams, and rosary beads,
can't wash away the secrets you've concealed,
the whispers in the dark, the choices made,
the ghosts that haunt, the paths you've strayed.

You cling to symbols of a bygone age,
a nostalgic longing for a simpler stage,
but innocence, like youth, is lost in time,
and no amount of prayer can rewind the crime.

The colour pink, a fragile, fading hue,
can't cover up the truth, the things you've been through,
the fears that grip, the doubts that creep,
the shadows that haunt, the demons that seep.

You're scared of God, of judgment's might,
of being seen, of being cast into the night,
but rosaries, like talismans, can't keep at bay,
the darkness that lurks, the fears that stray.

Oh, lamb, oh doll, oh innocent thing,
you're not as pure as you would have them sing,
you're complex, messy, multifaceted, and worn,
a tapestry of flaws, of trials, and of scorn.

the cloak,
rips apart

the caste,
comes crumbling down

the marigold,
wilts away

you and i,
foreverbound

honesty,
in my every breath

a lie,
in each of yours

who are you really,
beneath whatever you pretend to be?

In a quest to find myself I set out in disguise
I trekked many a winding valley and mountainside
And it was a very many years before I found Myself; at last.
For I was wearing a very good disguise.

The night wraps itself around me, a velvet shroud,
Whispering promises of warmth in its false crowd.
I stumble into her arms, but her name escapes me,
A faceless phantom, filling empty shapes.
The lights blur, the music dulls the ache,
Her touch a fleeting balm for what I fake.
Laughter spills like wine, hollow and thin,
But it can't drown the silence screaming within.
Her eyes search mine, but find nothing inside,
Afraid she'll see our feelings collide.
A soul adrift, lost in an endless sea,
Clinging to strangers for company.
I tell myself it's enough, this fleeting play,
A masquerade to keep the darkness at bay.
Yet when dawn arrives, her warmth is gone,
And I’m left with my shadow to lean upon.
The bed feels colder, though I am not alone,
Her presence fades like a forgotten tone.
What am I but a man with borrowed fire,
A marionette of fleeting desire?
I long for something deeper, real and true,
But my hands are too stained to reach out for you.
And so I drift, lost in the night’s disguise,
Hiding my emptiness beneath blank eyes.

Earthly possessions, earthly possessions;
At most they’re all of my greatest confessions

As the mask I so love to wear over my face
Is a mask made out of chameleon skins-
It grants me a shrewd changing appearance,
Camouflaging myself, to fit in with the crowd.

(inspired by ‘Dusty Rose Dreaming’ by vb)

We’re powdered city girls heading into a club,
bright orchids entering the hothouse,
spreading fun with noblesse oblige,
qua somethings suited for silver screens.

Our attention’s as uncertain as the stock market.

Experts at mixing trickery and disguise,
we’re but vague summations of nature,
as we sparkling preen, like excited atoms.

Rouged and kohled to unnatural colors,
dressed in silk-whispers to tease and entice,
in neon-light, broken by par-cans, scanners
and champagne flutes, we’re superhero-like
immune to societal judgment and aghast rebuke.

In our few, fleeting nights of youth
let our voices chorus in laughter.
What’s it to you? Tell the truth.
.
.
Songs for this piece:
Baby You’re a Superstar by NuDisco
Love Land by the Blenders
Nostalgie Du Voyage by Nightflight