paradox of dogma

from the forged passport to stamps of different continents
the ring your name was carved in cursive
and the heart you opened crack
--white blood and lies
--wrong feels and cries
the lips you thought was poison
but then the words as red as crimson
no far from pain nor Sunday morning rain

she is fragile
like the bomb
as strong as the wind
she knocks on your door
and lights up the lint
into frozen storm
vanished at dawn
into deeper future of her broken ballad
overplayed tapes and cassettes
creeps into fresh lighted scent of yesterday's sin

with the ombre of blues filled her palette
her world stood on plain white canvas
that night she walks on the pier
measuring the distance between her middle finger
to the amount of people's favor
when her sorrrow clings onto the razor
like the ivy writhe on the sunlit wall, the words crawl
as she sips the smoke of the cigarette in her evening coffee
of all and all been going on lately
her mind is paused into flashes of memories
she doesn't own, she didn't want
but that is her faith in short
trapped in the cage, deadlocked.