Trigger: Small reference to self-harm and depression.
The masks we wear are perfect.
Never loose and rarely tight.
They keep us safe from others.
Keep our demons out of sight.
They laugh when we are broken.
Smile when we simply must.
No blemish or imperfection.
A creation that will never rust.
I seldom ever remember.
Who I am without my mask.
That to peel off that layer.
Is such a daunting task.
All others carry one as well.
Wherever they may go.
And no matter what is on their minds.
Only the molded mask will show.
The lies they preach in public.
Or the scars along their wrists.
Are left mute to others knowledge.
Ignorance is such a splendid gift.
My mask is oh so perfect .
Not a crack will show.
Always sitting in its place.
No matter what life will throw.
See, I'm worried of getting rid of mine.
Too scared to let the world see.
That behind my safe disguise,
is a dreadful, wounded me.
I'll keep my mask tied tightly.
I'm happy with it for now.
But truth is I can't remove it.
The real me doesn't know how.
-Thoughts? Comments? :D Let me know what you think! Don't forget to ★!-
YOU ARE READING
A Dash of Madness
PoetryThe mind is a horrible thing to waste. Now when you have a mind like mine, where monsters come out to play and happy things come in bursts, it helps to write things down. From bad days to good days and everything in between I try to make sense of...
