She walks on eggshells lost for words
A tempest full of longing
Bleach blonde hair and painted toes
that shine like Easter morning

She is the sum of all she hates
and everything she wants
An underlying weakness
and a sexiness she flaunts

Another woman fixates
on a photo in a book
the image of a model
is the way she wants to look

It’s someone she would like to be
but cannot realize
A picture-perfect image
half her age and half her size

They’re lost inside illusions
don’t know whom they want to be
A poor excuse for living
while they’re dying to be free

He stares inside a mirror
locked within his bedroom walls
and wanders through his mindscapes
voices echo down a hall

The image that is staring back
is dressed in bone and skin
But all he sees is beauty
in his penchant to be thin

Another young man contemplates
a razor to his wrists
He’s drawn to isolation
like a drug he can’t resist

He can’t quite put his finger
on the cause of all his pain
and why he loves abuse
finding comfort in disdain

They’re lost inside illusions
can’t tell whom they want to be
somewhere in between
the way they think and what they see

A fine line to insanity
that cuts beneath the skin
The place in which they cannot stand
the bodies that they’re in

Hoping they will find the key
but more than likely lose
not based on facts, just fantasy
the way we’re made to choose

The reasoning of maniacs
who pull the strings of fate
to make us hate the things we love
and love the things we hate

They’re lost inside illusions
don’t know whom they want to be
A poor excuse for living
as they’re dying to be free

TM DiSarro

©2022 TM DiSarro / MindScapes Publishing

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