Fabricated Face

The masks we wear
rip and tear.
The skin beneath
no longer fair.
Flesh exposed,
ripped and raw.
The pain is great
besides the flaw.

Beneath the laceration,
we hear no salutation.
Within, a battle fought,
Without, a happy plot.
All is ornate decoration.
Self, meet thy castration.

Each is in pain,
all feeling disdain.
It’s a simple task,
to take off a mask.
Tell the rest of the cast,
the scars will not last.

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