People wear masks. I wear a mask.
I wear it so often, sometimes, I doubt I even have a face anymore.
My mask hides my loneliness, my depression,, my fears, and my wants.
I truly live in a world in my head, but then, what kind of world am I living out there?
Starting to think that masks are evil. They were meant to break down our very own essence of spirit to a point we were we waste away behind a curtain. I had a dream once about a man with a mask who lived on the other side of my wall. He was far better than me in any way possible. He was dressed for some kind of occasion, a ball/Venetian ceremony type event. Red currents opened way as I watched the man through this vision. He was everything that I was not. He wore a black tuxedo of the highest value, and his mask was so elegant, so sophisticated in design and form that I couldn't help but marvel at it. He was fixing his tie in the mirror, so happy, so full of life. I was at one end sick, injured, barely able to stay conscious while he was at peak perfection. I realized that the entire time I had been watching myself. I was the man with the mask. It killed me a little, that's what masks do. Some people live all their lives with their happy masks on, then someday someone or something takes it, and you never become the same. To wear a mask and not even know it. I've lied to myself so many times about what makes me happy that I don;t even know any more. I couldn't tell you if you asked. Who am I without the mask? My mind is struggling to create a sort of safe heaven for my will and spirit to recuperate. It could be a room in my house, it could be a certain spot that I hold memories of past close by. It's trying to designate somewhere where I will feel safe and secure at all times. Obviously, since I can notice whats going then its not working. People must do it all the time. I guess you can call it a "security blanket" of sorts. You know like when you were a kid and you seek protection under a quilt or sheet of some sort. To many of life's realities are hitting me hard. The only thing Masks accomplish is making the time go by. To bad time is irrelevant because whatever is anything in life is going to be will just be the essence of whatever destined of it. Time is a measurement of thoughts spread across a span of existence. Like the things we tell ourselves, time is a lie. In all reality, I will probably never be that man I saw on the other side of the wall. I will only embrace his fallacy, his ideas, his shame, but never his image for it is only the deception of the mask he wears. just like the fake images we come into contact with everyday as we walk down the street, as we greet our loved ones, as we look in the mirror. The mask will always be more familiar than the skin.
