Can anyone hear the
soft knocking on the door?
Just like to come in for a while
and curl by the fire stoked by ideals,
let this perceived cold exterior melt away
to the blazing truth beneath.
Will anyone let them in?
It's getting cold and lonely
out there in the obscure shadows;
they're swallowing up individuality,
tearing down the walls
of their private definitions,
going to leave to leave them weak
to the clique's conformity.
Where is there a genuine soul
in this beautified madness?
Like them. Love them. Hate them.
Keep bending to their whims
and let yourself go...
far, far away until there's nothing left.
A whisper of a roar... you're no more.
The day is getting so old,
an endless memory of fake mirth.
Play your game, adjust your mask.
We're all animals underneath the skin,
craving for the human touch –
not the corruption of humanity,
the glamour of vanity,
the ruse of sensuality.
How are you?
Begin the shy interrogation of
just trying to find a way to connect
beyond the blurred pigments
of your reflection...