༻᯽᪥🦋᪥᯽༺

ᗰᏆᖇᖇᝪᖇ, you hold the mask,
the stoic face I paint each day—
a shield forged from tender lies,
this cloak stitched in careful smiles.

But below, an ancient tide thrashes,
its waves claw my lungs for air,
and I am drowning, yet walking,
walking the world like a ๓คภ ๏f รt๏ภє.

Oh, mirror, my silent confessor,
show me as I am, not as I seem.
Beneath this polished face lies ruin—
a...