We would all have come to a point,
where we are just so done putting on masks,
to conceal of whom we are,
what we feel.

And we go on living our lives,
as if nothing much had happen,
that the scars in hands doesn't sting,
that the room is darker than the immortal night.

Questions not asked,
and answers never to be revealed,
uncertainty is definitely thick in the air,
and so albeit the tension.

But how do feelings overcome insecurities of the heart?
How do we live on to everyday's life as no roller coaster ride has happened?
To feel on the verge of a thin rope,
feeling all at once that the rope may snap.

*Why do I still put on a mask,
and tell myself lies?