Blink streams away from those gaping redness,
Thou have you no shame?
Throbs of the heart isn't the only beating one-
The head tilts in fame.

Mimic of a broken clay doll,
Here i stand.
Below layers of warmth, 
Suffocates my breath.

The eye, temple and mind-
All cry in dying roses.
As limbs no longer function
But in that, you find satisfaction.

Distant echoes of a crowd,
Welcoming warmth of joy,
Blasting stereos on my grasp
All close yet far.

The numbers on tickets,
And gems on stage.
Your glancing eyes, fantasy-
Can never hit mine, reality.

And as I sit on this chair,
It is far from what I imagine.
Because dreams are far-
Far too sweet- to be true.

- beautifulove (copyright 2014)