The need to conceal my inner most demons,
no attention drawn to myself, a paper bag over my head.
Another placed over my head,
a smile scribbled on its surface.

My attempts go unnoticed,
as I'm the only one pointing out my flaws.
The bag has the same tired word scribbled on the inside,
"failure"
and the ink stains my face.
I had never approved of labels,
but there are ones that cannot be removed.
We have these facades,
we orchestrate
at the expense of an existence
we're refusing to live in.