by Nick Gisburne
The face she finds to fight another day
Is one for which she holds no great regard
With all her bold disguises burned away
She wears the last, a ruin, deeply scarred
Its impotent acceptance of defeat
A canvas for the suffering inside
Is all she has to shield her from a street
Where happiness and hope forever died
A thousand dreary faces, each the same
United in a life no longer fair
Accept another player to their game
But few will ever notice her, or care
Her face, a mask of misery and skin
Despairs to see another day begin
