MASK-ara should be its name,
Just a tool to play the game,
You know the one,
Where all the girls,
With rosy cheeks,
And silky curls,
Stitch broken smiles,
Onto their face,
Ignoring the blood,
All over the place,
The one where they layer,
Their faces in cream,
In blush and foundation,
Fulfilling their dreams,
Dreams of perfection,
That society has planted,
Lathering lashes in MASK-ara,
Their smiles are slanted,
Trying to mask the tears,
That they cry from the feeling,
Of not being enough,
Why aren't they healing,
They wonder when their wounds and their scratches,
Their tear stained eyelashes,
Stay opened and wet,
But solve this equation,
And see what you get,
Masking your pain, plus a dream of perfection,
Can equal what else but affliction?
Affliction of body, affliction of soul,
Those beautiful hearts,
Are no longer gold.
