My Masks Don’t Fit Anymore

Wore them once or twice.

Then, I threw them out.

Sunk them deep in the river.

Stories told; stories not read,

fighting with urge to jump out of the window.

The seventh floor should be sufficient

for the complete eradication of my person.

No one will notice; some will be rich.

Some will comment, but never think

that they could do anything.

Intoxicated with their own greed,

waiting for things to happen to them.

They’ve got them for the entire lives.

Whatever doesn’t fit has to go away.

It seems it falls to me, and me alone.

To battle at each turn, with every part

of all that is, both outward and within.

I'm weary now; I long to find some rest

within this calm, unending resting place,

where no one treads, nor drives, nor takes a ride,

where all are the same, and there is no division.

There, no one wears a mask; no one hides feelings;

no one became crippled in their early years

producing more broken human toys.

It’s time to finish this social joke

leading us nowhere near the values

only indulging in vices and bad habits.

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Thank you for reading!