Behind The Fringe


Behind the fringe I flip the pages of my eyelashes.
Old paint is chipped off as mascara flows across my cheek.
The funeral of desires left behind ashes.
And I was labelled by the crowd as a freak.

The voices in my head walked away once.
So, I walk in their search on the noisy shopping street.
The shocking pink I wear shouts that I am not like you.
With the swivel of my waist the heels hurt my feet.
As I dig the nails painted black in my fist.
the sight of blood makes me weak..

In the blaring noise I dance away the night.
The noises of the discotheque never fall asleep.
Had set out to differ but all seem the same around me.
Am I everyone whom you meet ?

Am I what I seem Am I a mask that even you hide behind ?
Am I a mere commodity in the shopping street that I have put up on display ?
Am I bitterchoclate or am I truly sweet ?
Or am I a small wish that wants to be fulfilled no longer weep ?

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