Party girl persona no longer protects
the sad, lonely being within.
Lipstick helps to fake a smile
that brightly distracts my suffering.
Mask of success no longer serves
to boost my life-weary ways.
What are accomplishments anyway?
Not as if you can take them to the grave.
Extravert energy no longer helps
when I want to retreat from the world.
People just jeer at my fistful of faults
as into a ball of shame I curl.
Being just me is never enough.
That’s why I look ever outside.
Within my walls is a dark, blank hole
that is waiting for me to die.
(image courtesy of Kheat/freedigitalphotos.net)
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