Empty

He asked me politely, ‘ Do not write All these sob-stuff, write about happiness’. I turned further morose when he said kindly ‘Regret I cannot take anything away From what you write’.

Rummaging through my trunk I retrieved my faded, forgotten mask Of good cheer. Clasping it over my face I felt good, looking in the mirror Because I was grinning From ear to ear.

But then, queerly, the reflection Had empty sockets Where my eyes should've been.