Mystique is Imaginary


Eloquence is reconstructed into controlled fingers, art is splattered.
Custom-made figurines are acrobats gliding through lazy afternoons.
Baton twirls are mistaken, modified pens spin under his handsome labyrinth.
Pens are misunderstood, their profile transforms into a guarded weapon.
Horseman in shining fashion can break this doll-like curse, everything is frozen.
Dolls are worshipped and played with, then make-up is rendered.
Everything is growing up, his heart is judged.
Wings trace a triangular passage, people find themselves awkwardly lost.
He stares at the many enjoyable silhouettes, his pen frames him in a photograph.
Silence is powerful, judgement will disperse if his voice is lost.
Madness is the state of serenity where everyone's destiny has left him in a photographic solitude.
Once upon a time, his barrier was nonexistent until selfishness was manipulated.
He realizes that stopping clocks is his perdition, he needs to skate to his unexposed colors.
Time is blooming, and he is still trapped in a motionless picture,
Many people stare at it in awe, the photograph changes.
Performances are adored, clapping is echoed.
Many silent lies are told, he doesn't know what to trust.
Rejection has been apparent, perfection is too much weight.
He is scared to kidnap his fears, they eat his intuition alive.
A roller coaster will never steer straight, why should his life stain.
Spirited days create an earthquake of paint, his photograph is vibrant.
Depressing days shatter a meteor of grays, his expression never changes.
A shy smile lays on his face.
Dark hands grab his pen and points at the picture,
Whispers are heard, and a golden keyhole builds over the photograph.
A bright, blue beam launches from the tip of the pen, and unlocks the landscape.
Click. He is cremated from changeless hours,
seeing wise hands from a physical sprit from long ago.
Help comes from unexpected places, it will always be here.
Even under the darkest photograph, someone will admire it.

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