They say time will heal all wounds
but what if it doesn’t stop hurting, ever?
Go on, demand, scream, shout
beg, grovel for your refund

The myraid of augmented reality
you crafted
with the message in mind
A future where your smile is geniune

Time, the hypocrite
Why would anyone believe you?
If it had done anything
but prolonged everything

Who do you bill the

agony of
watching the flames spring back to her eyes,
only to realise it is but
the mind’s deceit

bane of
staying alive when it has lost all its essence,
none of those roses, smiles and
the locket which stores it all

disappointments of
muttering to your shadow in darkness
hoping another would emerge
and upon turning around, she appears

to?

The rusted, stained mirror you lean on

You stand in the moment’s blues
which dissolves purple
and emerges red in your eyes

You fling the chair,
your image shatters
taking all the dredges and scars along

the last truth is destroyed
and nothing is left for time to probe