I can disguise myself quite well
Throw a type of layer over my personality
Paint a type of layer atop my face.

Layer by layer the barrier builds up
"It's gotten stronger" I hear.
It's stronger on the surface
The material no longer sheer.

My layers get heavy sometimes
But they're crucial and my protection
They've learned to grow like flowers
Sprouting rom my skin
They're pretty but their roots are very *****.

Sometimes when I need them, my layers disappear
They leave me cold and naked
My soul's not use to being bare.

So I'll grab these flowers by their roots
And chop off all their heads
And I'll wait for the layers to grow back
Again.