A Pain(t)ed Face

I'm getting ready for your funeral,

And my make up looks too nice.

It looks like I am happy,

It looks like I'm alright.

But my make up is a mask

It is a lie and pure deception,

For it makes things appear perfect

By most people's perception.

A splash of colour

A flourish of glitter,

It makes things seem

Less cold and bitter.

It hides the crippling sadness,

It hides the fact I'm mourning,

It hides the imperfections

And the feelings I am hoarding.

But it's socially acceptable

It is the thing to do,

To hide behind cosmetics

To stop the truth from breaking through.

So I'll apply this make up,

With great care and precision,

Despite that fact it's one great lie,

It's the bars to my prison.

Some call it their war paint,

And today I need that strength,

As I fail to say goodbye to you,

I'll go to any lengths.

My hair is curled,

My shirt is pressed

But it does not matter how I am dressed.

Because how I look won't bring you back.