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We throw rocks in the wishing well
Try to fool ourselves that it is gold
How can one fool one’s own mind?
A head to take care of, a memory to mould.
And keep hoping for a better day,
Yet we get older and bolder,
Defective skin in morning mirrors
Tear it up with rusty scissors
Nothing’s special anymore,
Unless it’s a star trapped on one’s skin
Or a flake which remembers it all
From innocence to love to lust to sin.
By M.Z.
Found by Darren on 20th July 2006, written secretly by Moira.z.
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