They say; but who are they, that say,
That cloth is my armor
It shields me from the unknown and unknowing
It hides my nose and mouth but doesn’t hide my shame
I am unrecognizable, unnatural, and anonymous
I lose my unwillingness to protest my anonymity on the ignorant
I have waited a thousand lifetimes to hide in the open
To see and not be seen
To breathe the stale air of my breath
And exhale the poisonous gas that would otherwise be words
Lost are those with false entitlements seeking to resurrect past ailments
Pity me and madness, they say
They are to whip up a storm; a gale
Phones at the ready, for another star, will explode
A supernova at the entrance of Walmart
They dim before the Sunsets
They turn into a Black Hole and Donut Holes then,
*** holes.