In morning dust, in sunset red,
Before you leave and go to bed,
I hope you take it off and look
With every word out of that book -
And scratch out that thread, that page, dissection,
Do I suffer to blind affection...
We all take them off and look in the mirror to see
That there's something incredibly monstrous to be.
The masks of perfection.
I stomp the appeal and cut the correction.
In beautiful masks lies our ugliest infection.
Nav komentāru:
Ierakstīt komentāru