After three thirty I don’t feel the need to paste on empty smiles, pretend my pretty friends aren’t prettier than me, pretend my mind is mindless, pretend the pasty paint on my fake face isn’t itchy
After three thirty my homemade mask makes no attempt to stay alive
After three thirty I don’t need empty people filled with empty words, consoling, controlling.
who try to preach perfection into my ears, building bonds weak and breakable to the touch
who say they speak truth when behind backs they slowly break apart broken bits of hearts
who snap judge, snitch, snatch, snare, snobs and snakes when in reality what were they?
who were they,

to wrap wrecked people in their bags of tricks

to capture capable people and convert them into a mindless nix

to steal stolen goods for a single fix
who could mix together a combination of crumbling crust and dripping dip to make a ticking time bomb, bobbing in disguise as designer jeans.
After three thrity while they flail, feeling life flash before their eyes
I shed my skin to stay whole