With shaken hands,
she reaches up with a wand in defeat.
Performing magic on herself,
Artifically covering what she wants to hide.

The blemishes, the mistakes
The hurt, she has felt.
The tear stains, quite possibly.
The facade does not mirror the interior.

The mascaras flakes off her lashes,
When she places more than she should.
But her hands shake too much, to stop.
All of it, she wanted to cover.

She hears the voices,
Telling her to stop, telling her to go on.
She does not hear them,
The pounding pain in her heart silences them all.

She continues, then it gets quiet.
But she still carries on.
Shattered breath, love that had left.
The tears drag the culprit down her cheeks.

She drops the wand,
All is gone.
But pain shall always prosper,
It shall always live on.

Through the quiet, yet labored breaths
A voice has returned,
The same voice has returned.
Asking her why she hides what she is.

She says,
You are the reason to start.
And you are the reason to stop.
What shall I do then?

You tell me yes,
then it changes to no.
Acceptance, than denial.
Back and forth again,
Swaying like a swing.

Whether up or down,
I am always left.
With this pain,
So how must I cope?

Split response ring through her ears,
Telling what to do.
Telling her things she does not want to hear.
So she hides, with hatred pouring down her face.

I live in a world,
That hates me. But loves me.
I am who I am by this world.
You are my world.