False identity

I sit back under the light post.


But barely able to see my surroundings.

I look at my hands.

I see hard scarred loving hands.

I touch my face.

I feel the foreign mask I wear.

I remove the mask.

Set it in front of me.


I feel my face.

Once again feeling the cold scarred surface.

I rip it from my skin and lay it down.


I touch my face.

I remove the mask.


My teeth clench.

I ball my fists.

I crush the masks.

I look at my hands.

Bloody and unforgiving.

I take a breath and lovingly stroke my face.


I rip off the mask with malice and throw it down.

The leering cheery face looks back at me.

I crush it.

I crush the fucking happy face.

I breathe.

I touch my face.


This poem is about: 
Our world


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