Masks Are The Order Of The Day

I Am Terrified By This Dark Thing That Sleeps In Me; All Day I Feel Its Soft, Feathery Turnings, Its Malignity. Clouds Pass And Disperse. Are Those The Faces Of Love, Those Pale Irretrievables? Is It For Such I Agitate My Heart? I Am Incapable Of More Knowledge. What Is This, This Face So Murderous In Its Strangle Of Branches? - Its Snaky Acids Kiss. It Petrifies The Will. These Are The Isolate, Slow Faults That Kill, That Kill, That Kill.

I Am Made, Crudely, For Success.

I Am But One More Drop In The Great Sea Of Matter, Defined, With The Ability To Realize My Existence.

I Laid My Face To The Smooth Face Of The Marble And Howled My Loss Into The Cold Salt Rain.

At Twenty I Tried To Die And Get Back, Back, Back To You. I Thought Even The Bones Would Do.