☽⇉𝚙𝚘𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚎.

I don't know how I got here. A statue. Displayed bare.
Against the cold walls of the drafty museum.
Seem to have lost my heart somewhere along the way,
This feels too empty for my liking.

They must've left the heater off, the cold wind blowing against
My marble skin. Windows wide open, inviting everyone to stare
At my naked form. I stood alone, completely exposed
For the roaming eyes of guests and bypassers alike.

Flashes go off. Pictures taken. I stood paralysed, unable to move.
Afraid that the slightest twitch of my nose would give me away.
A long sigh, breath fluttering quietly between the discordant notes
Of the camera shutter, capturing everything in a glorious haze of beauty.

Yet for all that talk about stunning beauty, I have none.
I wonder why everyone hasn't left me. Maybe they're waiting
To roam their filthy hands everywhere, painting the marble with
Red and white. Marking me the ultimate fool.

What would happen if they saw through my perfectly crafted mask?
A fragile mind as brittle as glass and as cheap as coal, mistakenly trapped
In a casing meant for the perfect elites. And I am not them. I don't belong here.
Dancing in a game of pretense, silently waiting for the curtains to fall.

The deafening silence rings in my ears. I can feel everyone's gaze raking over
My bare skin. Awe, fear, disgust, repulsion. Their emotions
Reflected off me, akin to a mirror that exposed their deepest secrets.
No choice, but for me to morph accordingly, following their desires.

I wished to throw up. But how could I, when I lacked the guts
To do so? No blood bleeding from the scratches that litter my arms
And legs. A soulless being watching everyone parade around like
Clowns in disguise. Consider it lucky that they haven't signed me up for one too.

A pathetic mess, an empty shell. For I am again reminded that once they leave,
My frame would be left empty, memories completely wiped away,
Like the fog of a warm breath on a silvery pane. Frozen in time and space as
People moved around me. Carefully watching, waiting.

Who am I? No more than a mindless idiot. Soon there will be cracks
In the marble casing, caused by the imperfection from within. They will wreck me.
Intent on destroying my sanity, until my thoughts are no more.
One day, the statue will shatter, ashes swept over the tiled floor of the museum.

And one day, I will be free.
Completely still, empty.
Like the broken statue I was meant to be.