She’s happy.

Her eyes are as bright as
Sunrise on the morning dew so
You can’t see the sorrow
They hide.

Her voice is as gentle as
A new mother’s careful touch so
You can’t hear the pain
She cries at night.

Her heart is as generous as
A dying man’s final wish so
You can’t tell it’s hand stitched back together
With threads of disappointment.

She’s happy...
But only so you can’t see
That all she really is
Is numb.

Some days I feel like a Facade. Not a real person going through the day but a wall that was built to be the separation of the two things.

I don’t know what this wall is protecting or what lies the Facade is even telling. It all feels like I am not a person of true substance, just something waiting to reveal itself.

Hopefully it’s good.

Distinct shades of hues — stood the same
as the pitch-black dusk
takes place into the steel cage,
it dooms her life — a tale of desolation.

A series of the cynic
seeking through — peeking eyes
hushed lips,
here comes despair.

Painted words
by her — another form of scars
wrestled and won
of newness
and fondness
of her secrets
and her sins — are like faces
from a covered haze.

Shredded reputation — stop!
“It will never settle.”
She will strike once again
her vulnerability — remains concealed:
it must preserve her.

“It will never end.”
As she sips from the twists of her
remorse,
though she buries
her facade.

“End her.”
Hailed by her,
while she seeks for
another shade of colors — thus lead her
of another yet
the flicker of the sun.

“It will work out, I believe so.”