identity crises

the mirror shattered when a distortion screamed back, the calm demeanor fled. crack, whipped, humiliation for a ghost reminds of what is: and it isn't bought with cash. for stories crumbled as the gold cow rusted, no one remained to be held accountable as a merchant left the scene, buried in debts. where then lies peace? surely not to be held in the arms of a vengeful spirit whose mouth has been unsealed to spit back truths buried with mountains of lies, the friends bought with money are no where to be found. gone, fled, removed, they too seek refuge from shadows hungry to be known. so many victims who rose like tides, like a song, with each wave becoming stronger without a leash. wild, forgotten, whose time passes on to cover tracks. a doll house, a painted clown, a whitewash. splash, rain down colors of passion, hurtful words to be shut off to a higher authority. each truth gets buried deeper into another layer of whitewash, the golden calf bellows, comes alive, rocks the heavens when the worshippers fled. red eyed, smoke arising, hissing away, it coiled like a snake, then pounced on the shadows pointing fingers: hurtful words no longer remained in the deep soil, come alive they have, and rainbow clouds suffocated a calf whose fats gets burned, lighted up, what a fire, such glow, the heart of a calf laid inside, small, trembling when the tides recede. so this is how it is, how truth looks, and it was like fire, like stars, like a blazing heaven that rained down what has been buried, like clouds no longer able to remain aloof, airy fairy, untouchable, becoming living flames licking away one screaming, tearful, unrepentant cow whose time is gone.