Sitting staring at the swirls gently engraved upon the ceiling,
feeling faintly pessimistic that my hateful heart is healing.
Take apart the grace and art,
reveal my dated darkened past,
to harken back on wasted hours casting plaster for this mask.

It's cloudy colors cover up my crowded stream of conscience,
these teeming constants split between omitted and accomplished,
Scenes of trips and speeding fits
replaced by cleaner blips in truth
gleaning pictures of achievement, disconstruing youth uncouth.

Tall tales tinker with the crawling skin wherein my twin is toweled,
howling, hinting with appalling twitches, calling crying foul!
Small disguise in sprawling lies,
ensheathed, forestalling prying guests,
deflects the scrutinizing eyes of stressing restless wrecks.

My cranium co-ordinates claims stripped of contradiction,
wont to stitch the hidden patch on flaunted fabric fiction.
A daunting task, avaunt, at last,
concealed from haunting static force,
hiding flaws in paths of virtue drawn in divorced source and course.

Holding heaving out a haze, a cloud of extravented high,
sighs surrendered to the evening see my gracious ember die.
Praise condemns these sacred friends
with whom I stray from rendered paths,
preventing brash impatience from detaching this black mask.