Torn moments,
Which have been sewn by fragile and uncertain fingers
Brief flashes of a more simple and carefree time
appear within those moments
Ambiguous smiles tinged with anger and pride
Are also apparent there.
Nible and yet graceful at how the moments
soon fall into pieces
Matching and alining
A patch of disappointment,
and a stitch of despair,
all becoming clear as the fingers cease to move
The quilt of secrets unveiled,
Revealing a life time of bottled rage,
a broken razor to heal those wounds,
inflicted by a day of masks,
and a night of tears.
The crusty eyes of depression
open to another day,
The same face of...
Happiness.