what is this?

if not a garden of thorns

you’re snatching flowers of pleasure

oh dear, your hand bleeds

what is this?

if not an alley of infinite darkness?

your light alone is pressed deep

you have dived into this sea

what is this?

if not a theatre of masks

smiles all over the place

while sorrow hides beneath

what is this?

if not a chalice of venom

while you sip it for repose

you end up in an endless one

what is this?

if not a broken hourglass

no matter how hard you try

there’s no way to collect the sand.