facade.jpgLet not the cloak fool,
that I am naked,
or my girth prove,
I don’t need be fed.

Let not my smile,
betray my frown.
A pauper awhile,
with my crown.

A victor I might be,
but I have lost.
Things that come free
come at greater cost.

In silent mayhem,
lies violent harmony.
And for all that I am
it is still not me.

A seeker of truth,
now content with lies
In sanguine youth
an early demise.