A ‘mask’
Which we see all around us
With which we disguise our true selves
When people ask, “How are you?”
That “I’m fine” is a mask
Over “barely surviving”.
A ‘mask’
With which we disguise our true selves
When a ‘stranger’ passes by
And leaves us with melancholic nostalgia
That ‘blank face’ is a mask
Over a downpour of memories and emotions.
A ‘mask’
With which we disguise our hearts
Which, slowly
Like a sweet poison of its own kind
Converts our true selves, our hearts
Into a ‘mask’.