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The seats are empty;
The theatre is dark;
Why do you keep on acting?
There’s no one keeping mark.

Each step analyzed;
Each line rehearsed;
What tricks are you playing?
Trapped in an eternal curse.

These masks to hide fears;
These laughs to contain sadness;
Who are you when you’re not pretending?
Careful not to thread into madness.
A poem continuing that Charles Bukowski quote.
Jeremy Betts Jun 7
Could I answer "who am I?"
Even if I where to ask myself?
I'd surely catch myself being something else
Draped in some kind of forgotten lie

I bend and split like beams of light
Fractured through the prism of life
My personality's gone under the knife
I don't recognize myself, try as I might

Maybe it's been too long to yearn
For something that's too far gone to grasp
So are these last year's only pointless laps?
There's no familiar street for me to turn

I'm lost amongst my many false faces
And I can no longer find my own
This is my cross to bare alone
Falling out of my own graces

©2025
Cadmus May 20
🙏🏻

They feast with the wolves…

Bark with with the dogs…

Weep with the shepherds…

Guests at every table,

but a pillar at none.

Call them seasonal?
Situational?

Maybe,
Socially fluent? morally absent?

Friends to everyone…
and loyal to no one.

☝️
This poem reflects the nature of surface-level friendships. those who adapt to every group but commit to none. Present in moments of ease, absent in moments of need.
Cadmus May 18
Let it go under.

Neither the rowers are honest,
nor the passengers loyal.

Let it sink…

For in this floating masquerade,
drowning is the only honest act.
Sometimes, destruction is clarity. When all roles are false and all hands unclean, letting go is not surrender, it’s truth.
Gustavo G May 2
I am weird  
Born weird  
I am the only one who sees it?  
Can I fake it?  
Can I hide it?

Everyone wears a mask.

Some hide feelings,  
Others hide desires.

But mine...  
Mine is different.

It hides not what I feel,  
Not what I want...  
But who I am.

To hide who I am:  
Differently weird.
Kyle Kulseth Apr 22
Sew my ******* eyes open
and never let me sleep.
Watch until my blues run red
               and you've
          shown me what's
                     to see.

Tell the story of your golden crown,
you platinum-plated ****.
Let me know how brazen trumpets sound
               when filling up
                     with spit.

It's not enough to hate you.
And it's not enough to cry.
Crying havoc through your perfect teeth:
      it's much worse than a lie.

                          So lay me down on
                        5th street train tracks
                     where the old bums go to
                                       die.
                  Then roll out on your cart of
                                golden coin
                         and break some toys.

Play the game of pampered princes
      painted like paupers and ******.
Zip that costume up and hit the alleys.
                Catch a fix.
     Or a "swift one off the wrist."

Tug my bruising eyeballs out
and lay me down to bed.
Awake until the red turns black
               and your
           mouth starts spit-
               -ting lead.

Tell the story of your paper crown,
you hollow-hearted ****.
Let you know how hunting hounds do howl
      when crawling in
             the muck.

                       "You ain't nothin' but an *******,"
                     and "I don't believe in nothin' you're
                                  trying to prove."
(The Falcon)
Excerpt(s) Citation:

The Falcon. "The Fighter, The Rube, The *******." Gather Up the Chaps. Red Scare Industries, 2016. Various Formats.
neth jones Apr 15
a stop is called
a cold drop to death
       and clothe my eyes   squint tight
then clear the screen     beam into another variant
a *******   (with a new approach)
broaching language
           ( the previous dud
         would never have dared ! )
caring less  with vicious rapping
reinvent the day  from the perspective
                                 of a new gimmy villain
**** to the experience and bite barking
            take two  you intolerable people
                                you intolerable world  
                             the intolerable harking
                                  of the intolerable day
Trevor Dowe Apr 4
Trust is fickle
I can bare my darkest secrets and my deepest emotions to strangers
Yet, letting the both coexist in the minds of the same people feels too risky
Why is it so hard to be completely vulnerable with any single person
I piece my hopes and fears, desires and needs out, sometimes recklessly, in hopes of finding something meaningful
Though rarely to the same people
I'd find it laughable, if I wasn't so afraid of being punished, in one way or another, for being fully authentic
I share one thing with a satirical depiction of masculinity, the mask of normalcy.
Yet its veneer is wearing thin and its facade is cracking and repairing it takes more and more effort only to see new fractures and new peeling paint
Do I wear the mask because I despise who lies beneath?
Rambling semi-poetic word soup
Daniel Tucker Mar 18
The shaking of a reed
The movement of the water
The flickering of a flame

The crying of a child
The weariness of the labourer
The burning skin from the sun

The salty tears of guilt
The racking pain of loneliness
The swan song of past glories

The masks of complacency
The contracts of acceptance
The closing of the mind

The continuing saga
The words that fill the pages
The lot in life we share
© 2025 Daniel Tucker
No one is as they seem
We all hide behind intricate masks
Carefully crafted
Rarely cracking
Concealing the truth that lies behind the eyes
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