The Mirrorbox

Particles,
  Icy
Falling on my critic-perfect world
A haze of disjointed colors
Fog of blurs for days
And leaves hitting the floor like tap water
Into a clenched open,
bleeding mouth
Broken jaw, so numb
Pulsing

And my mirror-box face
Reflects your world of hate
Control freaks shattering
The impressionistic painting
Of the American Dream should-be

Cockroaches peeling free
From their lemon-cream pie
Prison
Apes fucking in the wind
Cold, shattering glass
Sprawled over your floor
Feet spitting red
On the ebony could-be

And your non-conformity
Is a replacement for fitting in
Under the watercolor painting
Dripping as it dries
Into your pried open mouth
Clenched under the faucet
Of your force-fed propoganda
Lies you choose to believe in
To numb away the pain
And the critics usher upon
Your picture-perfect autumn world
Where children play under the lens flare
As glass leaves hit the ground
And stare into the sunlight
Radiation turned you blind