Why care about the lies and the hate

Why shield the field of the desolate

Why lift the arms of the portrait

Why trace the fault in  the artifice

Where scars made with damaged bottles

Broke the heat off the misery

Why spell fate when it’s all fake

Why lay claim on goods of worthless deed

Why stretch hope on strange vessels

The mask did it course

It hid the art of it’s treeline shape and wanton size

No amount of frequency could do justice

As all hope to lead zoomed it’s faith at least

Why should we need choices when we have known

Why would they care when they scar not

Why should they stay when they hurt us

Living in the cottage with closed blinds

Damning the chains of facehunt

The girl with the scar lives on.