Layers of flesh like a false, revolting latex mask,
hiding truth within wishing to be free,
beauty within, unreflected without,
an actor among actors,
a charade eternal,
unending,
is no one truly true?
Who are the actors when they no longer act?
Donning mask at social birth,
wearing 'till death.
wearing it no matter how much the truth screams to be freed,
why can't it be free?
What is this genetic masochism that forces masks upon us?
Or is it,
perhaps,
that the masks themselves are truth?
If I were to remove the mask, would I find,
that beneath the layers of falsities and lies,
the truth that I so desperatly seek,
is in fact,
no better then the lies?
