By the day to day.
Drifting into nothing.
Not a soul aware nor one word spoken.
No one can see the broken fragments of what used to be.
The charade of the century.
Is the truth what is seen? Quite the contrary.
That facade is manufactured.
Designed to parry presumptions
that have left a soul maimed and fractured.
Tessellated into monochrome, lost in Purgatory.
No book cover once ever told the entire story.
With every oat of praise;
each fertile crop of sycophancy
erects another blockade in the maze
Escape becomes a fantasy.
The price of the performer; the show must go on.
Unmatched in the craft of convincing dusk is dawn.
Days go on forever
The nights are twice as long
A picture of perfection by design
with a foundation appearing strong
Nothing’s ever as good as it seems from the start
Reality built on the visions of dreams still fall apart.
Beauty is in the eye of those who behold
fueling fires in the ego mold,
without a trace of irony
only to leave the soul out in the brutal cold of a
As the super novae dies alone out in the universe of darkness
Quixotic allure starves unrecognized; fading into starkness