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Mar 8
An eclipse right at noon,  
Daylight faded in swift.  
The whirl of life, haphazardly, spun—  
The night came before the shade could lift.  

He picked a mask he liked;  
Never did he take it off.  
Blood changed, adrenaline spiked—  
By a stranger, he himself was kicked off.  

This stranger lived with a new face;  
Some were disturbed by his change.  
In every test, he'd ace—  
A lock one would never hinge.  

He exists still, but not there;  
Doesn't care about the world.  
Yet thinks himself to be fair,  
A repeated mistake too old.  

And he shall know  
Of the mishaps he conceived.  
The melancholic days—a fierce blow;  
In no respect was he healed.  

That, he knew too, very clear;  
His soul had long been tainted to care.  
When asked for "the real you"—a sharp spear  
On masks of previous spin, could he stare.  

One day, a new air—  
This stranger was then caught.  
He sought an urge he couldn't bear,  
Struck by the truthful Failnaught.
Once you start wearing a mask, you lose "you"
When you take the mask off, a question arises—
Is this also a mask?
Written by
Nishan Niraula  17/M/Nepal
(17/M/Nepal)   
  413
     rick, Vianne Lior, Morgan Howard and Mary Huxley
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