I rasp my mind around these thoughts.
Weeping willows wallow in self doubt.
Finding one's own grievances to mask others charades.
I bring my hand to the face of a believer.
Just happens to be my own;
quickly, I realize that mine is masked by tears and a frown.
Tirelessly gripping my imprisonment.
Unable to remove what has been given to me.
Mistaken as I am.
The mask goes deeper than my core,
could I possibly of built this face for myself?