Facade

You were never meant to fall
from the pedestal I placed you on.
Silly I was to believe you
divine: human sans wounds.
But reality slit the masquerade,
I looked on, saw it deflate,
saw the phoenix ascend
from its ashen bed
still cracked, blistered, broken,
but alive, though toeing a spider-web thread.
I reach through the smoke for your truth,
struggling to encounter the “real you”
You were not there, for only air
met my grasp
as I rushed to clasp
my hands around your soul,
to spare that falling angel.
You slipped between my fingers
in my palm the ash encasing you lingered.
I directed my gaze to the ground
but you were nowhere to be found.
You were but a convenient façade
fading as I leaned in, saw
your every miniscule flaw
now gaping slashes, bruised and raw.
You were but a gauze fantasy
too perfect for my new reality.