Palette of faces Express the masked Portrait of emotions You can't feel But wear. So which One are You Dressing As today?
Cracked Screen Holds no Expressions Under it's chipped Glasswear, Of all places Your face is The only thing You can't identify.
A body Made of Hands the Only appeal You got is Given by The Groping Fingers that grab what's Easy to exploit. Your diligence.
Ripped to shreds Your hair can't Cover the backstabs Your ignorance. Fends off. Gushing with Blank moves Your masks Can't Convert the pain Into pleasure.
Deep within, A bloody Grown Fetus Crunched Under The Dark Pools in your brain With the wish to Severe it's ties From your form. So do it, kiil the mask.