Stop talking

Stop crying whispers into beer glasses between the rasping grasp of other voices
of stars already fading out of memory

feeling eyes that don't exist resting on the backs of people that you have never been and so have no need to try
if badly to regurgitate a version of a day that is to much like the last to strangers that care less for the smell of your cheap cologne then I do

Please stop

Filling these peaceful moment stolen from amidst the rushing sound of air that chases blindly after trains it has ever yet to catch
Leaving it along with you to wait at platforms that are far to crowded
even when they are mostly empty of other people more frightened of what happens when there is nothing left to say then you are

Just leave

Until you can tell me the meaning written in between the rhythmic movements of the fish within the pond
Sleek bodies moving one beside the other like overlapping silver petals
tears drops shed into the water from the faceless willow tree

Until you like me no longer feel the need
to chatter endless and insistent in between the moments when nothing should be said at all
but instead just sit
in silence

Rage,
the only constant,
always there,
just beneath the surface,
waiting.
Waiting,
to pounce,
to maul,
to ****.
I don't let it.
Well,
I don't let it hurt OTHERS,
but energy is energy,
it has to be burned off,
so it pounces,
it mauls,
it kills,
me.
Me,
the only one who suffers,
so that everyone else,
can live more happily,
it's a sacrifice,
one I make every day.
But...some days...
Why?
I wonder why I make that sacrifice.
And then I think,
about the charnel battlefields,
the rolling hills of men once living,
the terrors that are my birthright,
and I remember.
I will die from this someday.
I won't be able to contain it any more,
and I WILL die.
But I will not falter.
I may have a monster inside of me,
but I am NOT a monster.

Masks,
we all wear them,
at least from time to time.
Don't try to deny it.
That girl who seems cheery all the time,
who always has a jacket on, or a sweater,
to hide the cuts,
and more importantly,
her Mask.
The little kid who sits alone at lunch,
who, "just isn't social",
because if he plays with others,
they'll see the bruises,
the beatings will show through.
Again, always wearing a jacket or somesuch,
but again,
more importantly,
his Mask.
Me,
me, who barely gets by,
without just exploding,
and hurting those he loves,
and wants to just be able to be STABLE,
just to see what it feels like.
I wear my faded jeans,
my gloves, to hide the bloodied knuckles,
from just punching whatever's at hand,
my boots,
to keep my toes breaking when I kick things,
but most importantly,
my Mask.