A cynical sneer captivates the muscles on the outside shell of the girl that sits still,

She everlastingly wants it to end,

All the others are thick silhouettes of mass media, pop-culture,

Chattels she could nevermore wrap her mind around enough to be content with.

A mandala inside she hides it behind the curtain of life that's so cruel and unkind, 

She clings selfishly to the refinement within and casts away all obscurity, distasteful to say the least

Cultivating in the way that the dear Buddha himself described, only to be toweled away in time,

For the next to take its place a cycle of beauty within on the outside a maniac,

A protective shell of hatred built around the gentility inside,

She hides, for the world is too cruel for it to know that she's kind.