Relentless Masks

I became lost in
The sheets that
Begged my body
Not to leave.
Lost in
Waves of sadness
That washed over
My eyelids
And sang me
To sleep.

Tell me then,
When does atrophy
Differ from
Despair?
Is it when
The door creaks
Open,
And the monster
Inside my closet
Decides to finally
Grab my foot
And slowly
Remove the
Covers from my
Limbs,
Only to violently
Jerk and pull
Me into
His lair?

Or is it
In the open
Sunlight?
Behind dimples
And taunt
Forced smiles?
How was your day?
Not bad.

We all wear masks,
Yet this one
Never come off.
It remains
The mask,
Behind the mask,
Behind the mask.

Perhaps this is
My true face,
The one of distance
And sadness.
The one of
Fear and displacement.
The one of
Anxiety and depression.
The mask of one’s
True self
That only reveals
Itself
At late night’s
Mourning.

How can one
Mourn itself?
How can that
Fiend enter reality?
How can these
Sheets
Smother all hope?

How does one
Regain all hope,
Or,
At the very least,
Some thin vial
Of hope?
Some trivial
Strength to
Stand upright
And deny the fiend
It’s treat.

And yet still,
The mask
Remains,
Un-bothered
By such
Trivialities,
Un-phased
By inadequate
Virtue.

It won’t be
Removed
So easily.