Semblance

This pretty-fashioned ball, a masquerade all fall.
Here's the catch and call, it's told to be for all.
Things and possibilities, never ending improbabilities.
Could it be some disability or just sickly incivility?
You don't know who plays the clown, you don't know whose wears a gown.
Forget the crown, they're all in frowns.
This facade keeps going round and round, you wound up only with a slippery noun.
A word, no verbs- just adjectives, you think not twice but in sevens or fifths.
They do a dance, clearly placed in a trance.
Words fall out like a desperate blunt lance, they prance away without a glance.
They forget what no one can forget, yet life won't let us run from debt.
It all comes down to a single trick, you either burn or melt off the candle wick.
But whose to say you're not just as sick, painting blood with a mere prick-like-stick.
Not on their faces, oh that thought misplaces.
But your own skin you force into aces, you'd cover all those hidden traces.
Cut all these bull, we're all just tools.
But I'm the one whose such a fool, putting myself under such a dark dark rule.

(well this was a bloody waste of time, i don't get it either. dont judge me i just needed an outlet)