There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said,
where masquers revel in moonlight in the dark city streets.
Their iron shoes burn a smouldering red
and compels them never end the song they sing with their feet.

There is a leather Curtain, made up of silence and shame.
They place upon each dancer's face as they waltz through the night.
They never share a longing gaze, never whisper a lover's name,
and as their souls lose their lustre, their iron shoes burn ever bright.

There is a lonely Ballroom of sad rain and cold concrete,
where masquers revel in terror at the symphony in their heads.
Their steps move ever faster, but their empty eyes never meet.
Hearts cold, they dance with hot feet, ere they're dead.

     There is a Frantic Masquerade, I've heard it said.
     Their icy hearts stave off passion's heat.
              They'll dance that way till the shoes burn through their head,
and only when the ice melts might their heart's dance be complete.

Write the pages,
catch the leaves.
Listen with your ears
because your heart doesn't care.

Open your mouth, feel the shock, disbelieve the surprise.

Read, but don't get too lost.
Remember the words you don't understand.
Love the protagonist,
But remember he will die.

Pay the man, ******* with the man, smile at the man.

Hold her hand and look her in the eye.
It shows confidence.
It shows self-worth.
It hides the shadow.

Write the obituary, scrap together the pictures, decide on calling hours.

Don't forget the kiss.
Don't forget how euphoric her soul feels when it (tries to) touch yours.
Don't forget to breathe.
Don't forget to keep the mask on.

Awake, dress in black, hold back the tears.

Don't act surprised when she doesn't call.
Don't look twice if Spring is late.
Don't stutter if the publisher says "no".
Because it will happen.

Greet them, hug them, kiss them on the cheek.

It's okay if you like winter the best.
There's something so inviting about the barren branches.
It's okay if you keep the shades down in the summer.
The sun can't listen to your vivid nightmares.

Kneel for her, grasp her hand, pray for salvation.

I can remember when a cup of lemonade or hot cocoa
solved any possible conflict in the world.
I can remember when I would laugh
and actually mean it.

Say your goodbyes, listen to the dirge, drive in silence.

And what does this change mean for us?
I think as we draw further from this idyllic place,
we long for that final state;
we long to rest and feel no pain.

Dig, dig, dig.

Dig, dig, dig.

A person, a thing, a conversation.
A feeling, a cloud, a heartbreak.
Another day, another day, another day.
Do you remember the last day you felt rested?
Do you remember the last time you heard silence?


Silence.