The Mask

Who was the catalyst that catapulted me  
into my chosen art?  
I’ve always loved the macabre,  
so, show me what you wouldn’t dare reveal to your friends,  
speak words you wouldn’t whisper in church.  

I want the ghastly,  
show me your devil face.  
I am not all good, nor am I all evil,  
bringing lunch for both my demons and angels,  
finding ways for my inner turmoil to exist.

If the Cheshire cat can tell Alice  
he doesn’t love her, then so can you.  
It’s Poe, it’s Goya,  
brains splattered like Hemingway.  
Paint me your inferno,  
I’ll swallow your pain,  
then curate your thoughts.

My childhood dream was to be a mortician,  
thinking if I could make the dead beautiful,  
I could make life mesmerizing.  
Too many out there screaming,  
"Turn from your wicked ways,"  
but I,  
I love my iniquitous character.

You see, the difference between us  
is you blame evil for your immoral ways—  
the TV, the music, the environment—  
but deep down,  
you know you lived your unscrupulous life  
the way you wanted to, the forsaken had
no hand in your black-hearted affairs.

Keep the mask on for others,  
but know,  
I love how grotesque you are  
on the inside.

NP