Melt the liquid make-up from my solidified face.

I have let my friends, my family, and myself weld it straight to my face.

It masks my freckles, my fear, and my blemishes.

The world has cloaked me inside a dark, cold caccoon. 

But I have found a swiss army knife, embedded into the crevasses of my pocket. 

This has proved itself worthy as I begin to tear at the syrupy, goop encasing me.

When I open my eyes and breathe 

I notice that my skin no longer burns.

My clothes no longer constrict me. My life-- no longer a perfect concoction conjured by society.

I am my purest form.

I am me.

The melting has just begun.