Masked

I wish to strip away all pretense

Peel back the layers and

Expose another reality

Fingers jam-sticky and

Slipping on sheaths of skin

As I expose bone

Knuckles tangled in sinew

As they tear,

Cracking into calcium to serve

Marrow, an appetiser

To whatever is hidden within—

I don't know if it still a mask

If the leatherwork is home-grown

And the embellishments are made of

Tooth and nail and cicatrix

All in varying shades of white

But there is no presumption of purity

This is not the shades of fresh snow

But a bloated and ashen myriad

Reminiscent of something sickly,

This is not pretty but plain to see,

An illness that is not corporal

Though evident, it is cranium bound—

Highly contagious to the empathetic.

I wonder if this is the purpose?

To expose myself, not to be seen

In some raw primordial form

But to unveil whatever lurks

In the shadows of my spine and

The spaces between my organs,

Tucked in the folds of grey matter

To fester

To grow into something

Unrecognisable as self.

I want to unmask,

Not to be honest,

But to be unburdened

Cleansed of this infection

That wears my visage

And speaks in tongues

I wish to eviscerate all pretense

And shed light on the desolation

Occupying the mechanism

That is me.