// Silk //
The silk robe sparkles with opulence,
As the onlookers' eyes gleam,
Often forgetting to ask about the stains,
Bright red smeared over the golden seams.
Nobody asks me how the silk was made,
And I keep forgetting the deafening screams
I heard when they drowned in boiling reality,
A large batch of cocoons of unborn dreams.
The smooth silk pricks the bare skin of my soul,
As I sing soothing songs to it named "Carpe Diem",
Protected unscathed in a decorated cage,
The last of butterflies wait for the sun to beam.
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