Descending
down from your pace,
I stop to
watch myself
Falling from
grace.
And I see your
relief,
You come over your
grief.
Surfacing are
your real intentions,
My failing fantasy
causes your pretensions.
And as I slowly
retire,
You present me
with your satire,
leaving me
naked even in yards of this attire.
How you’re
erasing me with perfection,
Facing a stranger
in the mirror,
Who is he in
that reflection?
I look up to
you,
Sitting on the
throne of ice,
You still
smile covering all those lies.
In my agony, the
rapture that you’ve found,
And your crown
with which we all are bound,
I realized
that I’m losing my ground.
