SHOUT

The mask was beautiful.

Golden the face was before you,

the same colored embroidery that curved

beside the nose and curled around the eyes,

along the lips, showing fine lines.

But a simple touch created an eminent crack

Two cracks and then three

One bled water, tears that glistened as it streamed down

over the golden paint

Two bled rich, ruby red blood that seeped into the flakes

Three bled fire that turned the art a burnt brown like crispy cuisine steak

When the leaking was done, the mask read an empty black resembling the darkness of a

starless night sky

Now, it is repainted and kept in a glass case held on a royal pedestal behind a red rope forever trespassed

Exploration and closer observations resulting

in constant devastation

Therefore, the mask is never dry.