Masks

The one you wear.

Over every inch of my body

imprinted with diginity

or, rather,

social propriety.

 

The eyes, these so called portayals

tell nothing more than we let on.

She swore in love,

She loved to swear,

A curse, this mask

w(ear)here the visibile spectrum

leaves only your garden of furious hair

for

groom, -ing-,

left at the alter,

an altered path of lonely roads,

twisting knots into my stomach.

Can you feel that?

It's not the beating of my heart,

It's a child dying from lack of comfort.

Reviews

[Aspiring Angel]

We all have our reasons to wear the mask. This one reminds me alot of a write I have up. Your last lines heartbreaking. Welcome to the Writer's Cafe. I look forward to getting to know you. Blessings, Lesa