Illusion

In pieces it lay, scattered

Strewn across the mezz floor

Yet invisible to your eyes

The blood red image, colourless and fuzzy

Not impressing on your mind.

To realise it was all but the primal emotion

It claws away at the tattered form on the floor

There was nothing, not now, not ever.

Was it all an illusion then?

A high-end performance that would shame Pacino?

The fine line is hazy at best

Which side are we on?

Could one who can't see the damage, fix it?

Nature of the damage unknown?

Can you? Quite doubtful

You say you want to, yet you don't seem to;

You say it's all in it, yet it isn't.

Belief flickers, I blow on the embers

To keep it going;

Help me.