There it is.

That shining mirror of gold,

Standing right before your mask.

How beautiful is glows,

How wonderful it flows.

The energy of high cost and value.

Like blossoms covering a platinum urn.

Your hand waiting for its turn,

To touch a delicate product.

When you do...It'll crack

Your face receives a smack.

You wonder why it lacks,

And you take a step back.

"Wait, this is covered in lavish material..."

"It's supposed to be perfect"

Ah, yes but its the death of many,

That makes it so serial.

So you mean to tell me,

That you can't handle a single crack?

Now it's ugly?

The imperfection of an object renders it useless?

It doesn't "look" good enough for you?

You walk away from the shell breaking before your very eyes?

Is this what it has come to?

Petals falling within the dance of solitude,

And off the trees that blow in a demonic world.

We thrive for the perfect mask,

But you leave it when it cracks...

Now, what will you do?

Will your face turn blue?

Will your eyes go to waste too?

That you had to witness such a catastrophe in your mind?

That you believe that you're blind?

Well, the truth is...

You are blind.

Not only to reality,

But to yourself.

Because you want to be perfect in every way,

But turn away when things falter to dismay.

I had a dream last night,

And there were two animals.

A tiger and a bear.

The tiger was sitting so perfectly in his kingdom.

The bear roamed around as is.

The tiger growled at the site of it.

Startled by the image of a brown bear roaming around its kingdom.

The tiger got up and walked up to the bear and said:

"What is a distorted animal doing in my domain?"

The bear calmly said:

"What is a hollowed shell doing with a crown on its head?"