The porcelain mask and all its cracks

Sits upon the once-hopeful’s face with a grin

Battered from years of love and all it lacks

It is failing its disguise like a veneer grown thin

The dreams of a little girl so naive

To a world that flourishes upon despair and death

Grows into a hopelessness doomed to grieve

As those dreams venture upon their last breath

The little girl, now a woman grown

Feels the pain growing and burning

At the hands of the lies a fallen world has sewn

Which has left her in a perpetual yearning

The last of the porcelain crackles to the floor

Her mask no longer dressed in a grin

The aching burns within her core

As the disguise presents a veneer grown thin