A mosaic floats scarcely, glossing over my mind,
A picture of beauty, but the truths an ugly lie,
Zoom in on the fractures,
And wounds buried in the piece.
You’ll soon find that perfect is just a ceased way,
Of saying you’re not good enough...
My mind runs through memories,
Like a person rewinds a movie.
I dryly critique the character development,
And all the flaws they try to mask underneath.
I want someone to tell me “it’s alright,”
And for once say their empty lines.
Tell me blitz of gorgeous lies, and bask me in false words.
Because the truth is?
I want them to read what the audience wants to hear,