The Mask
The Mask
I put on the mask of the devil himself.
With it on, I am adored.
It is a beautiful mask, flawless and ornate.
It is a mask made of fine porcelain, shining.
I knew nothing before the mask.
The mask opened my eyes, I may never rest.
Adorned, I silently spread wonders. Mystified.
Through his fake grin, I see it all.
Loving, and joyous, the crowds love me.
It's easy to believe that. They love the mask.
Push the mask, drop the mask, abuse it.
Unmarked will the mask forever be.
The Devil's Mask makes me adored.
The Devil's Mask takes my respect.
How can one be so adored?
How can the adored not be respected?
Remove the mask. Remove the perfection.
Underneath is a cracked flesh. Broken.
Before the mask, I worked hard.
I had little respect, no adoration.
The Mask makes me adored.
The Mask takes away all respect.
Remove The Mask, I am but a man.
I am cracked, I am the true porcelain.
Without The Mask, I am but the result.
The result of the abuse. That the mask gives.
I have lost the little respect I had garnered.
My memory, consumed by The Mask.
Who would respect the cracked flesh?
When he has a Mask. When he's a symbol.
Parting the seas, The Mask is adored.
Standing apart, The Man is laughed at.
With The Mask, I play a fool.
Without it, I am but a fool.
Adored, with no respect.
So I lean to The Mask again.
Adoration is better than to be obsolete.
No, oblivion is better than a mockery.
I put on The Mask, and he is not me.
I take off The Mask, and it's clear.
They love The Mask. The performance.
But only then.
If he knew how much I leaned on him.
The Mask.
He would never let me go.
He will never let me go.
The Devil's Mask is fantastic, but a burden.
Wear it at your own demise.
You will know the truth.
You will be berated.
The Mask will be remembered.
Not I.
The Mask is loved.
Not I.
The Mask is beautiful.
Not I.
I will miss The Mask. The abuse.
The closest I come to beauty.
For better or worse, it will only haunt me now.
Nothing else to be done.