Portrait of Flawed Perfection

When the mirror of life is a gossamer film, veiling v i n t a g e polaroids that reflect inner turmoils, look beyond the electric s p a r k s. There floats the p i x e l a t e d silver~ hiding s e c r e t s between s c a r r e d crystals, splattered across ebony-streaked skies… In the valley of sprouting darkness, I’ve found a bronze mirror framed in mosaic linings of antique testimonials. I see through the seething s e a of lies that I mask behind Medusa eyes~ adorned with kohl mascara, and honey gold concealer, while wishing I had an e r a s e r to correct forgotten mistakes; cluttered calligraphies carved beneath sun-kissed skin. Although candescent shades of gouache illuminate piercing edges of yesterday’s intricate entanglements, my wistful smiles covered with ruby rose matte lipstick, resemble flaming f e a r s of the inner-child still awake~ healing in sanguine seclusion. My life is but a memoir of a mere masquerade~ messy yet m u s i c a l and I am the creator of unheard chaos, painting torment across a tainted panorama of distorted truth, visible through the psychedelic lens of photographic m e m o r i e s Yet dulcet voices in my canvas depict the ringing ruins streaming down my soul, in silent screams, only an artist with a magical brush can articulate, to sketch the missing lines of my life to align displaced stars disguising scars. And I allow my da Vinci fingers to slowly sway to the confetti air, as I rhythmically architect to redesign rustic dreams with versatile watercolor. I d r i z z l e like tender raindrops into the warm arms of the charming Luna, as silver threads p u l l the vibrancy of my heart to be formed as a feathery art of fluency, like the throned Mona-Lisa on the aesthetic gallery of midnight musings, archived with tamed tapestries through cerulean blue portrayals in zest. I still remember how I’ve appeased every outburst, amidst the society that questions, ‘where’s the magic in the madness?’ I’ve rendered my demons as redefined beauty through rigorous refinement, for my perfectly flawed reflection reveals bruised veins beneath my amethyst armor. Whilst I long for topaz rays from dusky twilight, to paint my pain with a plethora of pastels, as I’m tired of the smoky tears clouding the crystalline mirror with broken heart-shaped f o g s of secrets and uncertainties~ dressing my wounds in murky metaphors.