They don't know what they do because
Plastic and powder can
Perfect the impurities and
Mask the undesired feelings.
Like painting the roses red,
Imperviously,
The grenade is tempered,
The moon disguised,
And gray is given a new color.
Since when could someone love
This beast lurking inside?
All is unknown behind my lucid eyes.
I guess that's why I have fears:
Afraid of falling,
Afraid of showing them who I am,
Afraid of what they think.
I feed the monster my fears,
And then put more powder on my face.

You have never seen me sad before.
Sorry I've shown you now.