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Poetry: Her Mask
Nov. 21st, 2022 02:13 pm
The crack in the foundations of the mask that I created is the knell of the bell signaling that my time of reckoning has come. In the years to come, I will be forced to return to the scene of a crime that I did not commit yet feel responsible for all the same. The death of my innocence suffocates me with a vengeance. She refuses to be ignored any longer.
The tragedy of my reality is how all I could scream were the details of my murder, but not a soul could hear. There were those who refused to see the snuffing of the light in my eyes, even if the recognition could have saved my life. This tale is also the murder of a trust.
Fragments of the truth tumble from my lips like the fragments of broken teeth crumbling from my gums. They say that they were innocent bystanders, but my bleeding heart sees through the lies. This child had no recourse to seek solace from. No Superman to save the day. No Wonder Woman to take me away.
Yet somehow the soul lives on through the pain. A mosaic of stars and fairy folk conglomerate to create a family of my mind's own conception. The death knell may toll, but surely not for me. Hell bares its teeth and claws at me, and I smile brightly at it, knowing that even then, I will always somehow remain with my loathsome mask lying broken beneath my feet.
