Deep in my mask,
embedded in bone.
A face that I wear,
I claimed was my own.
Where did it come from?
and what could I be.
If from different eyes,
I could myself see?
With force could I break it,
Find a face of my own?
Or would I just shatter?
made but from brittle stone.
Could it wash from my face,
like the mask of a clown?
Or would I follow down the drain,
run together, and drown?
Does it have roots,
an end I can find?
Or will I discover,
a mask that is mine.
Will I remember,
can I recover?
My face once my own,
now replaced by another.
A mask that I wear,
one that I've grown into,
yet a mask, somehow,
You manage to see through.
I stand still and stripped,
Made naked by your stare,
I feel for a mask - but find nothing there.
A mask I thought needed,
a life under their stares.
You place no such mask here,
and I'll place none such there.
Will I have courage,
when you wake me from sleep?
Or will I not risk it,
and will this mask I keep?
I yearn for your freedom,
a face of my own,
but I fear I'll lose footing,
and stumble, laid out prone.
Prime for the picking,
my eyes for the crows,
you came to save me,
but they brought their bows.
The arrows all pierce me,
they run me through,
but they're like the mask,
and they aren't real like you.
I imagine the archers,
Notching arrow anew,
but when my eyes open, I only find you.
