Masks, all the way down
Monday, I ate hope. Swirled it around empty sockets and washed it down to rot. Gave a little back.
This found me, you know that, all moon-faced and fat. Came on with blood and mud and boxes and breaking, turned me. Like a trick. Look at me now.
So please don’t touch our face. It’s flat and hard and brand, brand new and I had to cut too much to make it fit.
Look what you’ve done. Give me a tissue, love.
Please don’t take it off.
Please don’t,
no,
sweet honey