Naïve, bathed in awe, security written in Braille.
Confused a mask for a mirror, always blind to the veil.
Augmented by life’s rocks, our journey thus curtailed.
Security, hope, diminished, childhood’s final nail.

As our lives grew warm, I began to grow colder.
When you gave me your hand I gave you my shoulder.
What was once a fire, now a barren smoulder.
I never thought I’d give thanks to be older.

They say that prevention is better than cure,
but how can you prevent what you couldn’t see before?
Promises of glass hold their weight no more,
and the seed you reaped is indifferent to its core.

Better for you, if I scream, shout and yell,
yet under your mask you’d be unable to tell,
that for me you’re like the sand-blasted shell,
of a long-forgotten dream I care not to tell.

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