So many words left unspoken, die . . .
As the grief sets in late, after the bye;
Need a shoulder, just to bend over and cry.
Sincere tears withheld in pain-
Masked in happiness, doped in smiles.
Search the faces, look for the eyes-
So much for cliched perfunctory slys!
Sinful creations, with glorious glitch,
We are no more than the textures we stitch.
Lie to your self, put up a brave face,
Withhold the subtext with blabber and slays!
Its only just a matter of time
Before you break, at the last words you hear.
The mysterious, chained self, new to himself,
Seeps out for once, beyond the weak knobs,
For a second or two- no more can afford,
So he's played along and dramatized for the fun.
A treacherous plot, a well entertained suicide . . .
After the bye, it sets in late
Look for a shoulder, yourself u hate.
