short lived, fleeting and ephemeral
are the dogmas upon which
you withhold your pillars on
and though you try with much persistence
to prove your idiosyncrasy
the thoughts in which you prevail
are but altiloquent,
like your beliefs,
which will shatter and
the sudden loss of oxygen in your lungs
the cold grey touch of your hand,
falling onto the ground.
because like yourself
they are derivatives of something,
nothing is what it seemed to be.
because everything you believed in was a lie
you're a mosaic.
and i am a mosaic.
we are all mosaics.