Picture Perfect

It's all so picture perfect,
Isn't that how it should be?
It's a con of false pretenses
To lock in your heightened senses
I slow with a feeling of melancholy
A floating memory
Some would wonder what it is we're supposed to see
I say, simply see.
The attempt of a spruce-up
A barren path of stones
Bubbles aught in a death trap
Of stained glass, but not saudered alone
Look outside yourself, she's saying
With a gentle brush to the green
I assume for a moment
That I get what you mean
WOrds stuck in my head as I try not to lose them
I do what I can to sit down and use them
FInd some art and stare it down
Use your mind to make it your own
Question which words are worthy of sending home
Remember her as you gaze at the walls
Cliches aren't always complete faults
Because you remembered him about the green green grass
This places haunts you with your all-mistaken past.