all saints’ daze

It’s the human face that scares me, of all the masks we’ve worn.

It’s the warmth in its cheeks,
lighting up November streets.

It’s the comfort of words in a
wasteland of tones;
open arms you could never
quite
call home.

Sense of direction on
a meaningless road;

I’ve been hoping to see a
single sign,
destination
bottleneck to give crawling
terrain some
sense of time.

But it just goes on, town after town and the masks that
they wear,
some made from
skin, others bone,
some from
matted hair.

Masks with few things in common, save for the stare.

Piercing eyes of custom, passionate affairs with rendering judgement, placing me in reaches of non-repair.

But laissez-faire,
they leave me,
knowing I plan on
disappearing before the guise wears out its welcome,
last songs of the evening belted out at stars.

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9 thoughts on “all saints’ daze

  1. You can only wear those masks, and hide behind them for so long, and eventually, it will, all come off, and, you’ll have to show your truest forms to the outside world, and you will have, NOWHERE left that you can hide…

    Liked by 1 person

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