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Hide The Blue
I embellish the fake smiles
paint these feigned simpers of joy
to enshroud my lachrymose face
I cower at the very thought of
the day when the paint runs dry
and imposture wears down
the day when my cover gets torn apart.
the day the haven where I hide
is descried and pillaged.
Then my frail inside
my bleeding scars
will lay bare before
the eyes of those
who slashed open them
That can’t happen.
So I buy more
paint.
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Poetry makes me happy. It's as simple as that.