The Atrium

The Turtle and the Fool's Gold

I tried to peel back the curtain

the turtle peeked out of his shell

but the guillotine was waiting

like a vulture in the midday sun

Seeking for something certain

find some sort of heaven within a hell

into the smoke and suffocating

but breathing didn't even seem fun

Fool's gold

picked up from the spring

hands cold

feelings are a funny thing

 Laughing on the outside

but the inside doesn't agree

Writing in it on a paper

spewing it out of my mind

as if a self-inflicted blow to the head

shedding another pile of skin

empathy turns into vapor

the turtle recoils from a world unkind

weighed down with pride and dread

wipes the blood off this chin

Fool's gold

picked up from the spring

hands cold

feelings are a funny thing

Laughing on the outside

but the inside doesn't agree