The clock is ticking,
The inevitable countdown has begun,
And minutes tick by like impatient hares.
While the illusion I have sheltered under,
Has shattered into unrecognisable fragments.
What is this farce we've grown attached to?
It's like we're stumbling around in the dark.
Neither of us ready to cut the strings,
Still prepared to paint on faces like clowns;
Holding in the tears until the curtain has fallen.
But where are the words, the words that use to resemble so much?
We can't speak of them, it's almost like we're chewing sand;
Scared of spitting out the words that take the form of a bitter taste.
Don't you realise we're stuck in this unbreakable silence,
Terrified of mentioning our taboo feelings,
In case the audience with the ring side seats don't like the scene they've come for.
You confessed to be a hopeless romantic like those clichéd sonnets,
And I, the fool, have hung on your every word.
You have compared me to a summer day, reeled me in.
Till it has come to this, where I have been made to wear the dunce's cap,
Have the cruel mockery stare at me in this unbearable sunlight.
Can't you see that you're an artist with your lies?
Each one carefully crafted to make the onlooker become the next puppet you use.
You're avoiding the question, am I to remain on this pedestal indefinitely?
To be compared to and looked upon but never touched.
To never have that gentle satisfaction of knowing those three little words to be true.
But I am not like you; I cannot mirror your perfection like an oil painting.
I cannot mask the pain I feel with a smile, and yes I can feel what you cannot.
Until you feel what I know we have, all I can do is stand tall and smile.
Please can you just summon up the nerve to do what needs to be done.
Stop the lies that splinter into madness, madness which we cannot touch.
Let us strip away our masks and show our true colours now.
Please just do this one request for me,
Cut my strings and watch me fall,
Because living out of your arms is what is slowly turning me to wood.