Immaterial mortals hid under the material masks of friendships, never tend to move, never tend to love, what they feed upon is mere plastic smiles, with dread-filled in hearts.
Hearts, sensitive as the petals.
Hearts, stupid as middle
school kid
Under a mask of a smile untorn, they hide their faces dreadful.
Under the night sky, they groan like the little kids.
Under the blanket of hardcore plastic smiles, they hid their truest emotions,
and through the doors of starry charming roads, that they chose without their choice
They hide their own understanding of life
Do you realize who are they?
You won't
Neither do they,
The modern world teens
My pen fumbles while writing this,
and the fumbling of the pen aptly shows our life.
As the ink made of hope spills sometimes and sometimes does not flow.
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