dimanche 30 octobre 2011

I, like a Black-in-the-box

Spinning upon myself and swirling around,  

Things stubbornly remain the same in the mist of small evidence of progress,

The colorful hues of a disheveled rainbow besieging the fortress of Whiteness.
Deep down, I am what I am but in Your eyes
I can only be either THE frightening frizzy devil or YOUR exotic god,

Which has caused my true, inner self to crouch behind and watch over

That short-tempered, wiggling and lonely mask of mine.

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