Crystalline shards slide down a porcelain of symmetrical, broken beauty, the representation of reality; all that is, may not really be. An illusionistic plague, it plays amongst the manipulator's edge, weaving tales of opportunistic love, and maybe, undiscovered peace. The foolers' fool, and oh, what majestic art he painted with his words. Liberation galore, redemption, my satisfactory kiss, and infatuation for all but what the eye made it to be. 

—│—

❝A mirage of what never was.❞