Mask is a rare piece in tangibility
yet
a commoner in intangibility.

how poetic human can be;
**forevermore.

I am a ticking bomb
Of mass destruction
Chaos burns bright in my eyes
As I pick myself apart
Looking for the right wire
Red or blue
Hesitating, shaking violently
Hushed whispers of pain and frustration
While the pressure is too much
Why would you come near
When I'm set to self destruct

i scrape the bottom of my bucket
to find traces of emotion under my short fingernails

not enough for my on-stage production, however.

i'm merely a robot,
designed to work at maximum efficiency
with no error

but what about emotion?
i ask, mining myself like a forty-niner
they say,
you're too young
what the hell do you need emotions for?

they say they're more trouble than what they're worth

but, i want to feel something
without jeopardizing my efficiency
and how others perceive my efforts

is this curiosity my own?
or, like everything else,
is it a man made sentiment
hidden deep within my membrane?