Saturday, November 15, 2008

dorian grey

We are all, in a way,
like that picture of Dorian Grey,
hiding our deepest flaws.
in gilded tabernacles,
tucked far, far inside.
Though we cannot hide,
at times,
our little quirks,
and meaningless white lies,
bloodied daggers hang in rows,
inside that gold box.
and swing with the wind,
of a firghtented, lost soul.

Afraid to be released,
afraid to be revealed,
that we are not who we seem,
our real self is another,
version that we fear,
to reveal,
so we disguise,
and work hard to mesmorise,
our audiences with tricks,
and slights of the hand,
and hope they'll be fooled,
into thinking that you are,
that mask that you wear,
afterall, you fit it so well.

But cracks soon show through,
inevitable slip ups,
(even actors have those)
but fear not,
for the secret,
will stay safe tucked away,
and there it shall remain,
as long as you take out your thread,
and repair day by day,
the rips and the tears,
of a life performed away,
a patchwork it soon becomes,
of who you intrinsicly are,
and who you make believe you want to be.

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