She is clad in a cloak of contentment
She lurks in a mystical world of deceit
Of which you and I are quite familiar
She cowers in the doleful, dreary depiction of her shadow

A grin plants its roots in the apples of her cheeks
Her smile is her disguise
This smile has spider-like fingertips that sprawl
Across the face she chose to wear

A chipper grin embeds its fingertips in her personality
Her mask of bliss conceals the wild emotions
That skulk beneath her ebony veil
The mask is void of a frown

Vibrant tears maul the cage
The clenched fists of her hidden melancholy clobber the iron door
Her cloak of contentment is torn
In a pile are the fragments of her shattered mask

Far too long she has lived with a hollow heart
Her bold, potent sentiment never detected and exposed
To wear a fresh face of exhilaration
Finally she discovered she alone had to lift her ebony veil