The sadbeast journeyed
for many days and many nights
looking for his lost parts.

He never found them,
because none were missing.

While he trampled through the world
he listened closely to his own cries.

He heard the echo of woe in his tones.
Though
he was slow to remember,
the sadbeast began to recall
the heaviness
of his own heart.

Like forgotten, comfortable clothes
the boy began to wear
the trappings of his old self
again.

As his clarity returned
his hands brushed against the mirror-mask
he had worn so long.
The sadbeast discarded it,
realizing the villainy of such a device.
For to deceive the whole world
one must deceive one's self.
To lie
to one's own heart
is to poison what lies inside.

No man can bear the poison of his own tongue
for long.

It is better to live as a sadbeast,
weeping at the wind
and clutching at the dirt,
than to die in pursuit of a lie.