mindreader.

over and over again
a broken record
recording dreams
like a magpie, shiny
white lies covered in
the disguise of
innocence and naivety
that spills from our lips.
molten-hot secrets in
snow-covered discreetness
sneak out and spy on
my mind like birds in
the sky, soaring away
with my soul in hand.
this is what we are when the
rain starts to pour; we become
like bats In the dark,
retreating to caves in the hopes
that we won't become what we
really don't want.