The fake you made out of me.

by Megan Lueken

The point of life, is there one?
There is make-up running down my face.
You were my sun.
Now, you consider me a disgrace.
Each day I wake up, put on my mask of make-up.
My fake smile, but that only last a little while.
You can see the pain in my eyes.
You can see right through my lies.
So I lay awake each night,
Squeezing my eyes shut tight.
Pretending I can't see.
The fake you made out of me.