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
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Looking at the world through a windshield. 