Vizard

Nobody know the crooked face that hides beneath the sheaving mask.

While in the mask they see a friend,

Beneath the mask a rotting corpse,

Only a remnant of what once was someone.

What once had feelings,

Seek’d a friend,

What wanted to blend in.

That person is long gone,

Slowly carved away beneath the stormy wind that scraped every grain of sand off’f him.

All that was left: a scarring mask.

A painting hung over a hole,

A paster rubbed into a wall.

A happy cheery face,

It smiled “Hi”’s and “Bye”’s,

It told you it was fine!

For that was true the mask was fine,

But beneath the mask the now dead corpse.

It’s tear rolls down it’s grey pale skin,

It’s hands unable to wipe off the tear,

To stand up.

To go and try to rest,

Or breathe,

To say a word.

The person that once lived beneath,

He was a flower yet to bloom,

Cut low,

And early.

It’s vocal chords ripped out,

Unable now to speak a word,

Frightened,

And alone.

It didn’t care it moved through every single day.

It lived it’s life not touching yours,

It wanted more but… what can one plea for when just a remnant of a person.

An empty shell,

Stuffed with rubber and tears.

The days that once streamed by so fast,

Now take a stop,

Stuck,

No way forth,

The anchor that was being build is way to heavy now.

Drowned down beneath ocean of regrets.

A final bubble hits the surface,

It send a ripple through the calm.

Late,

To late,

For to the ripple came to see a group,

But it’s to late to save you now,

For you’re far gone,

Forever.