-The Masks we wear-
What is this that I am?
The face inside the mirror
Has no reflection,
Only a blank mask without emotion.
How often does one dream of something more,
To pass the time in a meaningful way.
While around them, debauchery of good intentions reign as law?
As every second of the ticking clock is measured by minutes,
Time slows to a crawl.
I scream from the inside for something to break down the doldrums,
A chaotic change in the slow agony of ultimate restrictions.
The putrid stench and decay
Of cigars and other tobacco-laced inhalants
Stifle the air and cause hacking coughs
And they only light up again
To feed the addiction.
Must I exist in a place so devoid of mirth?
A masquerade while I walk in the halls of the dead,
Waiting for the clock to buzz at the end of the day,
So one can leave that hellish prison
And remove the face they must wear,
When entering the purgatory of the hopeless.
But why then must those with good hearts work among the very evils of man?
And maybe I place a second mask when I travel home,
For I fear what must lie beneath the surface,
Waiting to break free of its chains.