Post by lizyy on Apr 2, 2014 16:27:23 GMT
Pristine like a pure white moon hovering high, masking the landscape of blasphemy in our minds, the truth is covered by deception. An ancient thing, a memory of raving joy, of a weak glass shield, now shattered. Told all of the time we are free, angry we are forced to mask ourselves with the broken glass, pretending it isn’t shattered. We are a feather in the weather, no control over our path or destination. Solemn like a ghost we hide our iron, bound and chained.
*in a toilet*