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Masked

The skin is just a mask of flesh and bones
To be judged by its color of the outer look
Naked eyes can measure forms and hones
But blind to the soul living within this look

A smile can pretend to mask pain and sorrow
But it can capture and tame a genuine friend
To eye of one's image from head down to toe
It's as silly as a mindful-tongue that's unkind

A mirror can replicate the truest picture of us
But too mute to speak of what's hidden behind
Expensive clothes worn to cover a hairy ass
Serve same purpose as of that second hand

A blanket may hold us from cold in winter time
In a house, small or big, shielding us from rain
But what is a home if ugly souls are living in
To torment a mind to spawn again and again

Fresh apples sometimes need to be cut in piece
For these are always not as good as they seem
Same as humans' characters hidden in their flesh
Like worms swallowing that stupid pride in shame

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