Azoth by justicemarchi

On the cover of a magazine
Your glossy eyes look out at me
And I cannot place where I have seen them before
But I am past the gates of your fourth wall

And I need the key to the door
Of the austere covering treasure
Trapped and encapsulating
The creating
And the liberating

Under the spotlight
Rumor of ruin will not suffice
Unless your body is crumbling
There is no purpose for stumbling

And the tonic marks the threshold
Of the past that you endear
The future is but a calling
And the treated paper is the boundary that will disappear

On the catwalk between the Sephiroth
Is a golden trail leading up above the rocks
No your makeup will not smear off
When it hardens to be a mirror
Sending out to your loved ones the Azoth

In the space of the media
Is a trace of truth
Under everything we laugh at and corrode
And in that world is a fever pitch
In the center is a tapestry of a million beaded pearls