The masks we wear
are as shameful to us
as dirty, ill-fitting underwear.
They force others to believe...
As we futilely attempt to deceive.
The masks they pinch and bite.
They distort personalities
with a decidedly decadent bit
of demented delight.
Our sacred, scared, scarred
masks were woven by hand
with hate, lies, sighs and lust.
One day, in the distant future,
we will certainly leave them...
Scattered like discarded leaves.
Choking on several layers of
sand, debris and pools of dust.