Dying Art

Sweet lies
To my ear
Bitter truths
I dont want to hear.

A dying art.
Who knew?
Falling apart.
Beautifully twisted.

What perfection,
To wear the mask.
To hide it all,
What a delicate task.

Soft curves
To trace.
Such beauty,
Could never be erased.

But to see her cry
To see her pain
Is a personal high
I take in vein.

Crystallized tears.
Battered and bruised.
Its not how it appears.
Its all been used.

I see her.
I see how she is.
Such a wrongful mistake.
Such a wonderful break.

Dont say Im wrong.
For I know her better.
Shes nothing more,
Then a dying feather.

Shell smile
And laugh,
But I know
Its all an act.

She wears the mask
To protect herself.
Dont ask.
Shed never tell.

To see you worry,
Puts her through hell.
She gives me the satisfaction
To dwell.

And I linger
In her broken heart,
To pick her up,
When shes had enough.

I pierce her skin,
And watch her bleed.
To see her smile again,
Just to mislead

So shell continue
Down the beaten path
And watch as
Her life leads in wrath.