Make Up

I make up nothing

For what I lack

In personality

 

.

Where that should have stopped

 

.

Oops

There are no “should’s”

Things are such as they are

 

.

Anger brooding

Behind a kind mask

That falls off

Oft more

Often than not

Just a cog

In the wheel

Of a machine

Grinding to a halt

Screws loose

Wheels off

Oil’s burnt

Pistons shattered

Stack blown

That seems

To be

My makeup