For Masking We Will Strive

Funny things,

like pinky rings,

make our colors show so bright.

Silly sings,

and flashy blings,

pretend to be our true sight.

Bitter wounds,

darkest tunes,

never seem to rise.

Deadest plumes

hide our gloom,

as we cover up our eyes.

Our insides stay in,

our outsides just grin,

Even though the core has died.

It's more fun to smile,

while drowning in bile,

if breathing has stopped inside.

For our face cannot show

the inside hollow.

Our reputation must survive.

For what will they think,

if inside we stink?

'Tis for masking we will strive!

Marching bands 

meet bitter hands.

and throats will be constrained.

For any word

 honestly heard 

must ever be detained.

For all the hand-filled pockets,

hidden, clenched with lockets

become polished plastic smiles.

We love to persist

in a weeping resist

and shine fakery; cold, reviled.

For in this my friends;

our dying begins,

and frays 'till all's consumed.

For in our bloodied hearts

the pressure starts

and we'll go out with a boom.