Color

“Centuries,” you said

“Forever!” you exaggerated.

Next, you’ll promise that you’re my Night in shining armor,

Expecting me to spend my Day waiting in a tower.

Façade after façade,

I break a mask, you grow another and

you are unaware

that I understand better.

I promise,

that I will not mourn for a tick, or a tock,

when you die, or disappear.

You’ll remain unmissed and uncolored.

Oh, what a thought!

Maybe I’ll get creative

and have your corpse buried

not in dirt, but in the masks you collected.