Calligriphic words
burning
at my being.
Catching alabaster moments,
framed and forgotten.
The facade is over.
This sick little game
has passed,
forcing scenarios,
as believable as they were,
to conjure
thoughts
of fairy tale new beginnings.
Posing as the innocent one,
perhaps still believing it himself.
So silly,
such masterfully concocted stories,
such feared glimpses
into ones soul.