Cracking Mask

The mask I wear is made of pure diamond.
The azure sapphire eyes are breathtaking sublime,
Virgin white pearls embellishing the seductive smile.

Though the mask seems to be made of utter perfection,
Under close examination you will find splintering cracks,
caused by the constant barrage of bullets called
Social Acceptance.

Through those cracks you can catch glimpses of nostalgic melancholia.
An adulterated rind harboring scars from the blades of wicked slander.
Scrutinizing, jet black eyes voided of emotion.
Bruised lips,
frozen in a forever glower.

Though the mask is a beauty, it is quite a burdensome for me.
It is quite tasking, keeping the false face polished and refined.
My mind craving for the glass veil to be broken,
wanting to return the berate society blatantly confessed.

The mask I wear is made of pure diamond.
But I would prefer if it was fashioned with devilish obsidian,
as diamonds lack in luster.

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