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You have perfected Gepettos' technique.
The graceful swaying motions,
Strings woven through my flesh,
pierced in just the right places.
I can't feel anything but the drying paint.
The blank stare
a crooked smile,at the corner; a tiny smudge.
(Proof of imperfecion)
Never much of an artist,
you created it all.
Guiding me, suspended from the ground.
Boxed ears still hearing every word,
painted smile unable to produce true sound.
When do I get a magic fairy?
An offer, a chance to be real?
If honesty is the only way,
I really should stop lying to myself.
Placed away once again,
you must be tired of play.
Finding myself again,
sifting through the dust of the closets' floor.
Wide eyed.
Staring at the air you once invaded.
I can not blink.
I wasn't made for sleep.
A drop of paint, trickles from the eye.
My blankets are strings,
the ones keeping me from being free.
Did you intend to create?
Were you trying to improve?
With your words....
your motions....
then you just put away your toy.
The closet where no one peeks.
The paint is running.
My vision blurred.
Vibrations from the floor against my wet cheek,
I feel it when you walk away.
It's the only thing I can sense.
The trigger.
Only feeling when you leave.
You may have intended to create,
I wonder if you think you did.
You might just want to turn around someday,
To see all you did was destroy.
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Posted by Meskalyn8 on 2008-01-15 12:58:17 | Rating: | Views: 45
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