how much
of the real me
is too much me
for the world
at large
to handle

as the porcelain mask
cracks
to expose
scarred skin
pent up lies
irreversible damage
inflicted
by weather
by hope
by dream
by love
by self

monsters are real
they hide
behind our eyes
whisper
little acts of horror
in the quiet
between screams

how much
of the demon
haunting
this skin suit
of coarse hair
and incorrigible smiles
is too much
for innocence
to witness

when
the pendulous crystal
rends the boundaries
of depressive reactions
to loose
the gas
of anxious inaction
who will see
the beast behind
hazel eyes

who will look away
as disgust
colors the air
around them