Chains constricted a man sporting a mask.
The mask concealed his twisted Shadow.
The Shadow's misery an agony: the chains.

The Fool found fault in his twisted self:
the distress and self loathing, adorned with despair,
paired with familiar struggles left him gasping for air.
Attempts to flee from himself were constantly cut, for
his true self was a cracked crystal stair.

In the presence of another appeared this mask:
one sporting smile and sharing sympathy with all.
If suspicions raised, the smile spread wide,
replying with a terse "all is fine."

The Fool in the tale is the man in my mirror.
The mirror shows all and leaves me in horror.
The image shown is the one I refuse to reveal, but
The artist is me:
The artist whose works remain forever in the unknown.

Although my mirror causes me to shatter in shock of what I've seen,
and though my mirror causes me to sob and scream at the sight of my reflection,
all through life I still find some peace,
knowing that at least my Shadow is behind a mask.