Veneer

The thing about veneer is this: It blinds to the truth, Hides the real heart from sight Whilst shining like topaz and gold. The coating on a rotten tooth, The glister on decaying wood, The glaze on calorific cakes, The healthy gleam in contact lens eyes. The rosy sheen on those about to die of fever, The cosmetic touch on week-old corpses, The gloss of laughing lips superimposed on twisted rage, The glow of fires on streams and rivers. The thing about veneer is this: It makes the real seem unreal, Or the unreal seem real - whatever; The sick seem well, The evil seem good, The mad seem sane The abnormal seem, well, normal. And the intrigue lies within The way it is brushed on like a second skin, So to reflect our pretend personas To those who look upon us. Whilst they do the same To us who look upon them. We all hide the madwoman in the attic, But the question is: Who has the maddest woman to hide?