The wrinkled red of rose petals is offsetting,
The blackened edges against burning marble is less than cold heat,
The clichéd prosthetics are searing tempered golden tongues,
And I am a pale, seething body of melting glass,
I have forgotten distaste, more so now though, I divulge,
If facts could portray images of falsified glory,
I would only see faces of harsh greyed stone, hot with shame of depiction,
You depict, to deceive yourself,
The shedding of your rainbow coat,
Golden with separation,
Revealing your true colours,
Your dead set eyes, coated with brackish mist,
A frozen misfortune,
Sharp grazing crystals shattering your complexion,
Nothing but cold ice eludes you, I am motionless in your presence,
Lost at sea within the depths of your emotionless being,
Dragged on by a tidal wave of mystified sanctity,
I am solemn in my admitting that I was flanked with hatred for you,
My heart was cold yet blaring with flames far greater than that of the Olympic torch,
Competing with the conditional rancor,
My mind was stale after your dismissal,
I tried,
So bravely to walk away,
Stumbled;
Sprawling fearfully away from the essence of self-loathing,
I, myself, was contained to the core in a shall of divergence,
Was it your fault I became so acrimonious?
Or was it merely my pride that stood solely,
In hand, with my aversion of you,
I no longer detest your mutability,
The metamorphosis which crystallized your form,
Once molded by annealed grit,
Compacted and compressed to shape precious stone,
You shine rather true to your enormity,
Nefarious yet sincere in your convictions,
And I am still a pale, seething body of melting glass.