Masquerade

He know that one day they will see
Past the frills and bells of this
His jester"s costume.
Between the puns and riddles
Is where he truly resides
But this they must never know.
He will play his part
Always talking so that none may hear him speak
For if they knew…

But it is her from which he hides the most
She does not know this
Thinks he lets her in
But he just shows her a different mask
One that’s slightly thinner maybe
But only hints at what’s beneath
His mask
His shroud, perhaps.

This is his life
Always wondering
When the show will end
And how
Will he falter and reveal the beast behind the curtain
Or will they somehow just know it
By the shadow that it casts.
He wants to end it before that happens
He has thought and planned upon it
His practice cuts all unnoticed
By those who said they cared
The makeup hid them all…

Or perhaps, even such low regard,
Is more than he truly deserves
Perchance he is less a jester in this play
Than a cardboard tree
Or Styrofoam rock
All his interactions nothing more
Than the stars of our grand tragedy,
Or comedy, depending on how you see it,
Trying not to stumble into him.
If this is his world
Then the fear is unwarranted
But dear god
How much worse that would be.

Either way
He wants it done
But knows that they will call it lunacy
And he does want their pity
Lamentation for his lost soul.
How can it be madness
To end such anguish
Might it not be the first sane thing he had ever done?