Emotions never displayed, undeniably disabled.
The masks were sat there, alongside my birth crib...
I should have wore one, and kept another.
Seclusion I never asked for, occupies my realm.
A mediocre jester, to the untroubled Race.
A feeble jester, to the bothered kin.
I lean on anger, and He escapes me.
I borrowed a mask, or two, or three...  None fits, I'll drench in salt instead.