Should I design the painted skull?

Taking my life into my own hands.

To have what I’m afraid I’ll always want

If I give in to the world’s demands.

With my own fingers, I could draft a vision

Of ephemeral bliss upon my face.

But if I’m to make that last decision,

It’s got to be mine to make.

It can’t be due to pressure of a million mouths,

Not for the silence that drives us insane.

It’s got to be because the right time is now,

Not because I’m afraid.

Of my bare face.

Hideous, and inhuman.

If I design the painted skull,

should I choose who must bear it?

Or should I take that chance at change,

Should I be the one to wear it?

Would things remain the same?

These are the questions that plague the mind

Encased behind a face

So bare.

Should I design the painted skull,

and could it be mine to wear?