I cannot stand the mundane atrocity of this life
my feathered arms know not how to fly in
the midst of this cold darkness
I am ever so bored by its marchings
dawn to dusk and dusk to dawn
sunset to sunrise and back again
my mortal mind is chained to a mortal heart
which beats with everlasting harmony
to the thickening of my blood
and the rotting of my soul
what many masks lie beneath
that sorrow-stricken face of mine
only to surface when the need truly arises
which is always
in this inept society full of wandering mask-wearers and
kindred dying hearts.
what can one do without a mask?
not much,
not much at all...