Behind These Neat Mask of Mine | Poetry

Behind these neat

Mask of mine,

It’s a mess of a

Different kind.

Veins and miles

Of veins all over,

Carrying bloods

Of all kind.

Where does it reach

I wonder,

That begins at the center

And prolongs all over.

Behind these neat

Mask of mine,

It’s a mess of a

Different kind.

Should I open them

What should happen?