My tears go up in invisible vapors,

The taste of salt on my tongue still lingers;

Smudges of ink and tears on all my papers,

As I try to stop and force myself to mingle.

But it doesn't take long to see through the fakers,

Their facades, their happiness, and their over-jeweled fingers.

Because the world is small, thanks to its maker,

And the truth keeps coming back to reassert itself stronger than ever.

There's no maybe and there is definitely no later,

Cause the world is actually transparent,

It all depends on the eyes of the intaker.