The walls are paper thin, in this house made of cards
Yet no one hears the screams of pain, echoing from within
A counterfeit smile, that doesn’t reach the eyes
A mock-up laugh, shrouding the torturing agony
In a veil of lies, lies, lies
Lies is all that is spoken, about this bruise or that cut
Obtained from his knuckles, known better than his embrace
They wonder why she flinches away at the slightest touch
For they are oblivious to the fact that not every touch is sweet
Some destroy the frail skin, the most delicate porcelain
Porcelain torn from her back, a fit of blinding fury
Pressure to be perfect, a mental prison
A prison with laws enforced, enforced with torment
Torment that bring the sickest joy, to the face of the prison guard
The scars carved into her back, masked with faux happiness
She lives in a house of cards, enclosing iron bars surround
A gilded cage, where not all is as it seems
Locked with fear and anguish, the greatest seal of all
In this house made of cards, the walls are paper thin
Echoing from within, screams of pain that no one hears