Modern Romanticism

Just a lie,

Once jovial, with a crooked smile.

Now wanting to lie

Down on the brick surface,

And face the sky

Wanting to die.

Because the world could not shy

Away from my mask.

They merely gasped,

They merely whispered

What they were glimpsing

And who they were glancing

With such a blow as their stare

Against my cheeks

Where marks come uplifted

The smile that was never there,

The real smile that was never here

To see my famous self.