Masks

~Steve (Angels)

Which is the real me?

I ask myself as I search through the masks

Those smashed to pieces in hate

And those born cracked and broken.

They scare me sometimes.

Empty chasms gaze out at me

Once there were eyes but now they are gone

I can’t remember what they looked like.

They all feel wrong somehow

Whenever I try them on

Smiles and frowns and tears and joy

Is this really me? It can’t be.

I am damaged the same as them

Just as the spider web of pain

Creeps across my soul

So does it across my many masks.

So where am I? I can’t tell they all look so real

The plastic has turned to spongy flesh

They are as broken as me

My eyes are empty pits.

Maybe one day I will find the real me

The mask that fits me

One I can show to the world

Broken as it is.