A broken puppet left rotting amid the mosses
That this pain consumes
In a world where there is only such agony
Every reincarnation a siren of throbbing
Strings rotten like the wood throughout
Decaying core is the stark reality in the mind
Painted faces conceal it all
You see the fake smiles
Assumptions of this person
Of this putrid self
Can't you realize you are just this same filth?
As it creeps in through the veneer
To crack our pretty smiles.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Variach, in the year 154 MA.