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kennedy Feb 2015
I see behind
Your vacant eyes
Right through to your core
There's nothing there
There never was
An empty shell
With painted sides
Masking truth
Hiding lies
Nyx Ciel Jan 2015
Why is it that I hide?
This, I do not know.
But for reasons undecided,
my face I do not show.

I hide behind the words I write
More than the name I bear,
For what's a name but reference?
Something to be shared.

But despite minute importance
In exactly how I'm known,
My name is still another mask
Upon my false king's throne.

And people ask "Who are you?"
As if they want to know.
What they want is my name
Though a  name does not show.

A name does not reveal the truth
In one's identity
A name simply puts on display
A title for all to see.

A title I wear simply,
Though "title" sounds perverse,
For if I hide 'twixt fear and pride
Honor goes unrehearsed.

This isn't to say at all
That the truth I don't reveal.
It's exclusively the physical
I keep from you concealed.

You know me just as well
As you would an open book.
All you have to do to learn
Is simply take a look.

So ask again, "Who are you?"
I'll say, "You already know."
Through the tears I've shed and the words I've bled,
My honest self I've shown.
For those unaware, I write under a pseudonym. Sometimes I question whether or not I'm hiding behind it to separate the truth of my feelings from the reality of every day life.

I hope that's not the case.

Sometimes the false identity is shameful, as if I can't come to terms with my own problems. Other times the distance is exactly what helps me come to terms. It's a very delicate balance.

I find the title very fitting.

Keep writing,
-Sam Ciel.

©Sam Ciel
Manea Radu Jan 2015
I close my eyes and they appear
With sudden screams of empty fear
There's not much left, but what remains
Are fragments of the broken chains.

And though they hold no real power
As they can not make still the hour
And all of them don't create ME
They guide me to infinity.

There's one I keep to help me grow
It is the one that makes me glow
He's writing to you as we speak
It always brings me to our peak.

The other one I keep for others
The hunters, providers, the fathers
The ones that need a goal to live
Lost, they have only gold to give.

The third and final one of all
The one that embraces my soul
It is not glowing and not guiding
But it lures my heart from hiding.

So there are three, as it's supposed
And each and every is a ghost
Sometimes I rise to watch them play
Or argue, or just plain delay...

As each and every is a speck
And as I descend, they come back
To finish off, here is a quiz:
Who is the spot following wiz?
Each and every of the voices in your head are not really you. Learn to love them but don't let them control you.
Courtney Gaura Jan 2015
I like my world
It's different from yours
I'm sure
I see the movements of still objects
Pain is two things
How can describe that
I feel my bones rotting
Under my skin
It hurts
But that's okay
Pain is also something
Easily discarded
I like my world
It's full of cresting
Thoughts and ideas
Dreams
Of sleeping and awakened hour
of music as dark
As I sometimes feel
Or as lost
As I wonder
In my mind
A grand maze
8  dimensions
So in the end
I know my world is different
from yours
What's yours like?
Is there a radio on
With all the songs
You listen to?
Well I am breathless
As my masks
Lock in place
Maybe one day
Someone will see
The world inside of me
But for now
I like my world
It might be dark
Some days
And light
Others
It is mine
Just a look
Grace Elizabeth Jan 2015
For every smile
There are fears
For every "I'm okay"
She hides a thousand tears

On the outside she's fine
But the whole thing is a lie
Inside she's broken
She's beaten and hoping
No one sees past her cover story

Her breaking point gets closer
With every smile she fakes
Everyday of charades
But even though she's worn thin
She still holds it in

No one sees her reality
No one sees past her cover story
Wrote this about 2 years ago. That's how I felt then.
Courtney Gaura Jan 2015
Blacked out heart
closed off mind
Praying to gods I don't believe in
Forget what I said
Forget me
For there's a part of me
Hidden away
Locked away
I've lost the key
To the box
My one eighth soul shard
Hides in
So what if you can see
the beast inside of me
Lost in a cage
Let me out of this rage
In this haze
Of dreams
AmberLynne Jan 2015
I'm unsure of how to persevere
in this role I'm supposed to
be pretending I was given.
And I fear that I'm continually
mistaken for my mask
when all that lies beneath
is treachery and deceit.
Yet you are fooled over and again
while I am left with the slimy remnants
after I've sent out the venom.
Tell me, is there truly such a thing
as a good-hearted executioner,
or am I only attempting
to fool myself as well?
1.4.15
Josiah Wilson Dec 2014
A man with many faces
Is a man with the cleverest lies
He knows how to hide his secrets
And keep them from prying eyes

A man with many masks
Is a man with a practiced smile
He knows how to end his foes
And act their friend all the while

A man with many ears
Is a man who won't be surprised
He knows what his enemies plan
And he acts out the perfect reprise

A man with many faces
Is a man who will live long and well
But ask yourself this, my friend
Will he live in heaven or hell?
PrttyBrd Dec 2014
Seeing happy holiday faces
Sappy sentiment and saccharine smiles
** ** **, and jolly jelly laughs
Pondering the likelihood
That their smiles are as porcelain as my own
Painted lips in Victorian red
Eyes done up in glitter and paint
Hoping that happy leaches into grown ups
From the wonder and joy that is the truth of babes
121214
Jade Massey Dec 2014
People assume things. They tend to do so every day, no matter the situation. Why? Who knows. What? All kinds of things. For example, they assume that the happiness I show them is real, when it is only a faqade. My happiness is the mask I use to hide my bitterness, my hate, my depression, my anxiety, my lonliness, my helplessness, and the broken pieces that I truly am. I mask many more things than this. My sanity is the mask I use to cover the fact that I truly am not in the right mind. I might not be insane, but I am certainly mentally unstable. My wholesomeness is the mask I use to hide the fact that I am beyond repair. I am broken in heart, mind, and spirit. My body may be intact, but the soul it masks is broken. It is broken in a million pieces and these pieces are slowly turning to dust - beyond repair. My smile is the mask that hides my tears. The tears that fall when no one is looking. My laugh is the mask that hides the screams of pain that constantly **** me from sleep. The screams echo in my ears and they never vanish until sleep takes over again. The make-up on my face is the mask that covers the tear tracks. My empty, emotionless eyes are the mask that keep my inner despair hidden. The hat, or hood of my hoodie are the masks that hide my scarred scalp. The scars there are from countless hairs being pulled out by my bare hands when I have a breakdown. My pants are the mask that cover my scarred thighs. The scars are from countless nights of countlessly and raggedly drawing razorblades across my sensitive skin. I am completely and utterly masked, hiding everything true about myself like a coward. I even take it so far as to hide my cowardice with a mask called strength. It is better to be masked than left out in the open with nothing to shield yourself, wouldn't you think?
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