The monsters within

I loved a man who looked away, broken and confused inside of letters and words. He was following his heart will say a million hearts who loved themsleves endlessly, searching for a purpose in the dollar bill. A man is only happy when he can no longer see himself, searching for his reflection inside of a white sky, claiming life never froze, it was just living, breathing, like the winter in a woman's broken heart. So many people think they know life, as they circle it with a finger on a wanted page, going through windows to pick out people like clothes. Waiting for the adoring conversations between shoplifters and salesman, about who is more desirable. What smile looks better will ask the teachers, as they hope they come across impenetrable, with nothing but disguises. Their only voice turning around them like ribbons around poles, like a design without meaning, decoration around the walls of civilization, people believing in the nothing again, the endless definitions of our own culture.
And they love these men who can't love, and they cry, even though they can never really cry. and they claim they are better now, with their fake lives. But they look like creatures of habit.