fake

a sharp breeze -

it screeches down your back,

tiny holes;

glitches,

in the system.

you never knew they were there.

did you?

exasperation for the senses

shattering the warmth

beneath your frail, soft skin.

the storm erupts

small bumps fly

underneath the armoured plates

which rarely fall away.

a fickle sun;

gorgeous gold,

but acrid lemon,

pushes pigment at lightning speeds

through tiny optical strands

as the

perfectly

coiffed, glossy mane,

(seems to be)

clumsily

lulling over your

static-steel-shoulder.

your face

a picturesque view of physical perfection.

but

the beauty lies within,

as reality is covered by mask.

so no one really knows you.

not even you.

do you?

for, beyond a yonder

are radiant valleys,

angelic and innocent.

this is where you live your

fairytale.

"we all know how

fake

and weak you really are."

your dreams,

they aren't real.

real is harsh.

and as the harshness

pierces your cold shell

your dreams fragment,

into tiny crystals of

envious emerald.

reality screams out at you;

"leave the faith behind,

sister".

the sarcastic tone

reverberating against your

circular wall of shame.

you can't help

but

let

the

shell

just

break

away.

really, nobody likes a fake.