I brush away the dust of years,
That covers what once gave out light,
But little would I know,
That the glass beneath had shattered too.
Sometimes we might not realise,
But drabness and deceit,
Only cover,
The true horror lurking beneath,
Until we let the dirt restrain,
The beast we see behind.
Static in a world of change,
Never moving,
Ever flowing,
Refraction, not reflection,
A warped image of ourselves.
Backwards,
Chant the ancient curse,
Of flattery and dignity,
Pour into the lovestruck opalescence,
Your soul,
So you can hear yourself,
Even if you ears aren't listening.
A silver window into time,
Changing,
Amnesia in glass,
Until one day,
It learns no more,
As you grow to hate the dark inside,
And bestow upon yourself,
Eight years of torment.
