Visage





The scratchy beginnings of a short story.
A survivor with a smile 
Who walked inside the hell 
Aside the devil, scorching fire .
The sound of the laughter 
Would bring anyone alive .
Broken or torn?
Wasnt my place to say
For all , I never planned to stay.
The eyes were not blind 
To understand the blank brain.
As they say 'it's the devil's workplace."
The grin didn't cower from its original state
As I found hell was the gate were angels unlaced their traits.
The mask falling out from the visage
Wavering out of their perfect image.
 -Rishali Richard

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