Some nights, you come real close. So close, you can taste the sleep, you can smell it. It smells like dripping saliva and warm cotton cloth.
In the dead of the night, the clock blinking at 2:43 a.m., you feel like a corpse dragged out from the grave. Immortality forced down a mortal.
You feel wrong.
Perhaps for all our worries about our individual existence, we are indeed nothing more than one among many.
A single artery of a heart, pulsing and throbbing on impulses from our milieu.
The clock struck midnight and she was gone.
The truth is right before you, they say, but they’ll never understand.
You do not want to see. You do not want to know. You don’t ask. You don’t doubt.
You close your eyes, and believe.
Whatever we did, we did for power.
Money. Love. Beauty. Respect. Family.
Power to control, to seduce, to create, to morph.
If my name is on the page, if my name is scrawled on some distant pillar, I can’t disappear.
I was here.
There is a castle I live in, with glass walls that kiss the sky.
I was never meant to be unshackled.
Who are you, really, underneath all the masks?
