I stand in front of the mirror,
Removing the mask that I wear..
My face sets, a slight grimace,
Reminding me of the discomfort.
Then I notice the one I effortlessly sport,
Still hidden under.
The pain is much lesser as I remove this one,
For it does help with just the minor nuances.
I look at myself, the face beneath the two layers,
Staring at it,
Wondering, if that a mask can be.
I almost miss it, but there it is,
The tiny piece of perfection,
Attempting to negate a blemish.
I wade into my eyes,
Uncovering depths unknown before,
How many layers?
How many masks?
Are my masks like the layers of an onion?
When removed, revealing a nothingness?
But can nothingness really exist?
Doesn't even an atom of reality count?
But then, what is reality?
We are but figments if our own imaginations.
I might as well forget shedding onion tears.--