Cloaked Flaws

Standing at the window, I watch flakes descend,

softening the jagged street below,

each one dances, a secret magician—

the ugly repressed, hidden from sight.

Yet beneath the facade lies decay,

where beauty can’t erase the grime,

the slush seeps through,

a patch of brown embraced by a white veil.

It’s odd to see perfection wrap its fingers,

but inside, the cracks still pulse, raw and real.