The garishly painted faces of people I pass
give me cold looks & seeming stares.
And this masquerade of moon faces
involves me more
Until I beg to run from the scene of the crime
The stretchers are wheeled out
the crisp white sheets cover the
torn souls that seemed to know where they were going.
So it is my turn now to pass them,
with a chilly glance in their direction
an aristocratic face
looms over me & persuades me to play enchanted
For I'm good at playing the roles of other people
in an attempt to get away from myself
My fake self
that cries at breakfast
that kisses no one's lips
that falls at the foot of the stairs
That dreams too big
and hates everything
That believes in apathy
but cannot achieve it
Still feels many feelings
that shouldn't hurt a normal person
but hurt me
Badly
And no matter how hard I cry
or kick or yell (or silently brood)
It makes no difference
No one can see me
Or touch me
Or stop the presence of fresh guilt
that overwhelms me the pain I may experience
That is okay
I like pain
Or maybe it's an acquired taste
Anyhow I've aquired it.
Perhaps en route to freedom
It captures me
The fresh blood lured me
And my perspectives of want
came to say to me
"I accept."