• This mask is getting old.
    It's chipped, cracked, and cold.

    It no longer shows that cheerful face,
    But my own shows through in its place.
    Thin strings hold it here,
    More ready to break with each passing year.

    I remove it to examine the faded colors,
    Once brilliant and bright, full of cheerful comfort.
    Plaster is missing, chipped away with time.
    Overused is this mask, as this mask is mine.

    Bent and warped and monstrous now,
    A useless thing—I have allowed
    Myself to wear it every day
    'Til all the colors have begun to fade.

    This mask is too old.
    It's broken, deformed, and cold.

    I shouldn't use it anymore, as age has made it weak,
    But the face it hides is much too scarred and it constantly weeps.