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 would always
be tainted, but the
reflection shall stand
stout with a smug face
for petty applause.
The ending shall wait
politely outside the
story to be validated
or justified.