what lies beneath those unwithered souls;
a ticking clock,
or a single brick unevenly placed on their walls?
a drying piece of grassland,
or a garden filled with blooms?
with smiles masked on their faces,
who'd know if they were real?
with eyes glistening upon the shadows of their insides,
i guess that's when you know what’s real

they say the upon the first fraction of a second from a glimpse you may know what they're truly feeling
but what if they're pathological liars, would you know what's real?
don't fret,
you're not alone
be genuine and kind,
and the rest untold