Why Want

These candles I’ve burnt out blowing smoke in my face;

The pennies gone to waste and all the stars I’ve chased

after wishes that never came true.

For such a fickle thing as the leaves on these trees.

Changing, dying, falling, then

Budding, brightening, thriving…

A vicious cycle of dismay and hope.

Yet the imperfect creature I am has fallen victim repeatedly to this perfect façade.

So seemingly harmless and innocent.

A masquerade ball danced happily into the night,

but even the most intricate masks come off in the end.

And behold, the innocence fades and truth reveals an ugly face;

One marred and scarred beyond the beautiful thing it once was.

Beautiful or not, it is this broken thing I longingly search my everyday for;

continuously chasing this phantom wind.