is she pretty? she asked.
i smiled, for the longest time.
on the inside..? she asked again
    the smile I had, that faded..
   realising they are never pretty..on the inside..
pretty faces, all over the wall, hideous facades of lies and utter *******.

is she pretty ? they asked, i could never smile again, because the inside became something i could not ignore.
the inevitable truth of what you were, not just the really ******* pretty face, came to light.
i call *******.