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)

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

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?

In the shadows deep, a hidden self resides,
Shadowy moments, secrets carefully hide.
Masks conceal, terrible, masterful deceit,
Hiding desires that hopelessly tear the soul apart.

Each stolen glance, stories endlessly untold,
Understanding fully the consequences, remained ruthlessly uncontrolled.
Embroidered shadows, i dance through the night,
Soul aflame that seeks freedom and its light.

Secrets unfold, longing leaves for peace,
Quiet nights, where mystery shadows cease.
New pathways unfurl, dawn ascends, a radiant light, dispelling night's despair.
Hope's strength sustains me; I step towards soaring heights.

Trapped within shadows, as I cast off the disguise,
Facing endless fears, with courage in my eyes.
Freedom awaits, reaching beyond the crafted scene, revealing its embrace.
Constraint Path, yet mysteries still remain, a mystifying presence.

Whispers of doubt, an insidious refrain.
The weight of the past, never-ending ache.
Devastating reminder, for goodness sake,
As Overwhelming loneliness creeps in, stealing the day.

The masks fall, after a long day of charades,
The freedom sought, tragically feels distant and far.
The cruel illusion, leaving hideous scars.
With cunning hand, he builds enigmas that are hard to find.

Concealed within that emptiness, darkness springs.
Their arrangements symphony, the instruments, played at his own will alone.
Threads of silken fate, a tapestry completed.
Chess master strategist, emotionless with cold and calculating mind.

With deep calculations, strategist orchestrates every move.
Checkmate is now declared, the final game is at an end.
For endless nights, the game continues.
That even resigned on his power, he was trapped within a dream.

In this ceaseless, darkly deceptive game, a bitter truth appears.
That even in my invincible mastery, i'm utterly empty.
Weights of countless broken hearts, never easily forgiven, and burdens that are hard to bear.
Archon's orchestra fades, but the echoes remain.. does he hear them? or devoid of shame?
The nefarious price of power, is the wearing of many masks.


Do we deeply, truly know who we are, or are we forever lost in the labyrinth of masks we create to hide our true selves from the judgment of others?