The Mask


The Mask
It is not a disguise, for I still portray myself. 
It is not an excuse, it just contravenes empathy. 
I do not seek sympathy in the eye of the beholder, to which justifies the facade amalgamated to my bare face.
When the sun's ray swells toward the diverse terrain of the earth, it is worn. 
When the moon elopes with the stars and alight within the darkness, thy true interior is revealed. 
I show but only me how the beliefs I grasp on the wretched earth degrade me to salt-saturated deliquescent drops slipping from the grasp of my self control.
It is not fake, for I am real- my emotions it does conceal. 
One day you'll know what lives beneath thine thick skin, of which my heart beats within. 
For now I'll continue to flourish behind its walls.
The mask. 


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