Show me something that isn't false,
something that isn't tucked away,
for years,
for years, can't you?

a conversation real as flesh,
a smile with no code to crack.
friendship not cast in a play,
not an actor filling
a human role.

a love not scared of killing
hopes of mornings smothered
heavenly in harmonious being,
plastered with life worth living.
a love not afraid of fatal words.

May death be spurious,
standing bare without a scythe?
Might conscious be counterfeit,
scanned copies of life seen through ones before
they sought that of life?

Life is but a masquerade.
Every guest a facade of chosen character,
oblivious and eager to soak in the
fictitious nature of hope around them,
while the owners of the great party
check them off the list.