Halls of the Dark Muse

The Mirror Which Flatters Not

It is true I am fraud
my moth lips flutter
over dark night lies
my eyes rapt in the headlights

All the secrets I try to hide
in a sunless box
kept upon the mantel
to catch in the moonlight

Falling inside of myself
where the fireflies live
within my heart
offering only fleeting
illumination

How I try to shed the mask
showing more often tragedy
while I grimace inside
my tears are opals

A cloudy haze hardened
in stone, just as the
core of my soul
cleaved in two as I try
to uncover a fragment
of sincerity.