thoughts. Not so dark,
not so real. Nothing that
exposes me or shows me
in a bad taste.
Just indicative enough
to be a victim.
Enough lighting to be
a protagonist.
Wounds without the
blood, confessions without
the consequences,
a little suffering carefully
placed where it catches
the careful eyes.
A little pain here.
A little longing there.
Something that looks
like a scar without ever
having to hurt-
I dip it all in sugar syrup
and glitter, till all of it
transcends downs to
symbols and metaphors.
Nothing abrupt.
Nothing conclusive.
Just doors half-open,
the questions slightly
unanswered-
The mirror deliberately
tainted to set a context,
so that reflection be
hailed with applause.
The ending shall wait
politely outside with a
smug face for validation.
It knows by this time,
the acts in the story are
justified.