Masked Parade of Hollow lies

A masquerade of grins so wide, Behind the glass, their shadows hide, I see the cracks beneath the paint, Where friendship’s ghost begins to faint. Their laughter, hollow, echoes thin, A symphony of fractured skin, Each word they speak, a sharpened blade, That carves a smile where trust decayed. I wear a grin, stitched ear to ear, A mockery of what was dear, But underneath, the stitches strain, To hold the mask against the pain. The medicine, a bitter draught, To dull the ache of every shaft, They slip into my heart with ease, A cure for wounds that never cease. But still, the poison lingers long, A numbing calm in the wronged, It turns my tears to bitter ice, And coats my soul with false delight. Their faces blur, so plastic, thin, A gallery of painted sin, They smile, they jest, they intertwine, In webs of lies they call divine. But I, a puppet on their strings, Dance to the tune their falseness sings, My joy, a phantom in their grip, A fading echo on their lips. So here I stand, in false parade, A marionette, my heart betrayed, I swallow pills to numb the lies, And mask the tears that never dry. Yet in this charade