Expression twiddles its thumbs
Waiting for observation to avert
So it can freely hang off the bones
Rest and decompress
With a bit of solice
It can begin to unveil
From a contented painting
Depicting a face of rest
It is an imitation only
I've crafted this mask
It has given me some peace
At first it did create something
Others wanted to see
But the layers of each new portrait
No longer give the old relief
They weigh on the authentic
My general countenance is not me