A sunlit lock of hair turns my eyes back to the wreckage,
to the palace where hope burned in a holy altar.
It is time to pry my eyes from the shining past.
Believe a lie for a while to carve a smile.
Some of my best work is done with a mask on.
Hate me for hiding behind a painted smile,
you'll never see enough to hate anything real.
I'll keep a flame to myself and you won't snuff it.
But the tea is hot, the air is good, and I don't mind a
kiss that doesn't mean anything. If those exist anymore
for me.