I can only speak Through masks My cowardice pulls me back Into the inky darkness Even my ******* desire for you I must conceal In the haze of bravado and apathy And the clawing ache Your gaze summons I must suppress With the very essence of my spirit
Forgive me For what kind man Would resort to such craven means Just to bare his very soul? Surely not one worthy of you.
The Lion's heritage Compels me and curses me To the bitter fate Of wandering the halls Of lonely perfection Eternity upon eternity
A duplicitous nature Earns curses But I am grateful For the gift of masks Without which Truth dies.
To the geisha.
"Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." - Oscar Wilde