A Mess Thats Just Too Much Work To Clean Up (A quick poem update)

Rip the flesh off the bones of your pretty little face, dear
it's not going to get you what you want
you know it's just a mask and your smile is as plastic as tuber ware bowls
melting as the heat rate increases, you begin to sweat, you start to slip up
and you can feel yourself losing grip of your life, but you can't control it
this choice was yours long ago but you miss stepped and trip now loyal fallow this to the end
see whats left at the end of the trail that lead you here
get on your knees and beg for a sign look for a light to fix this thing you have created
will that even help or is there even a problem the dark is what you are accustomed to
being sure to keep them at a distance holding a yard stick out from your shaking body
they want to know more, they want to know more,
some how someone could slide through the crack and break the code thats echoing through out your brain