a very, bloody night

people will always see the facade.
just the pretty face, they shall recognize.
the mask, right upon this opaqueness i have beneath.


no one will never know the cries between midnights,
the slits
those bruises
along with every teardrop
shed on this very shaky ground


no one will ever know
the madness
that has awaited
longing to surface
out of this very skin
who they call prison
which i could never fathom


they will always see a pretty face
shall they never know the insides