I wonder if it was
In the infamous alleys of my dreams,
Or was it just one of the streets,
I wander on, to escape their dying screams.
But there I saw you ,
On a heap of torn up journals,
What stories lay hidden in the layers of the night,
Set ablaze for eternity, by a fire infernal.
Your face aglow in their rage,
Like the embers fanned by the wrathful wind,
Its song unheeded by the rhythms of your countenance,
Reverberating with the sonority of your mind.
And as they changed from a beatific smile,
To hatred, malice, unfettered woe,
Your mouth at once an urn of love,
Hurling sputum of vileness, not known before.
I begged you to stop,
Your madness, made me cry,
So cold even among the blazing riot,
I asked you one earnest "Why?"
And then you started pulling them off ,
Masks covering your visage,
One after another, with each mask, you shed
A part of yourself, on that terrific stage.
Oh how much pain did it cause,
I could see your face twist and crumble,
The bellowing of your throaty voice,
And blood flowing down the temples,
But only till you tore it off, pain,
Another mask, bloody contortions replaced.
So, one by one they went, each emotion,
Each nuance, displayed indecently and effaced.
And when the last one came off,
The ground below my feet slipped away,
I stood there in shock, the horror of the sight,
Took away, what of life, in me remained,
And who was it that stared back?
The soul of a phantom , but a face so familiar,
Why, it was like a mirror standing up to me!
It was me, when there were no more masks to tear!
O the farce, the agony of the knowledge,
I buried my bleary eyes in my palms,
My cheeks flushed red from the blazing flames,
And I reached out with an almost paralyzed arm,
One mask and then another and the next,
The blood, the tears, the raw flesh touched my own,
And I stood upon the ashes of those stories of the night,
The masks are on, and the show has now begun.