The Mask

This is a counterfeit, the mask I have been wearing,

the mask that fakes my sleep when I am wide awake, 
the mask that conceals me when I am all aware.
Pretends how careless I am,
how insensitive I have been.

The glow of my thoughtfulness agitates in a flare. 
Along with this mask, it bursts out into the air.
And to the world I become a vain. 
I be a worthless tiny mortal . 
I be who I’d never wished to be.
A coward and guilt filled  one,
Chock full of remorse,
full of the sensations that aren’t real,
full of the states, that, it should not have triggered.

Though I fear taking it off, the mask that covers. 
The only reason being my reality that I fear .
I fear my existence.
I fear who I have been for decades.
I am frightened by the world I am in.
For someone might sense my inner being. 

I lack the assurance of my admiration. 
I lack the balminess of arms of my beloved.
I am a ring that has just been tossed off of a finger .
The body that dies out of seclusion. 
yet I hid my transparency from the world.
For it might be stepped on.
Leaving it to opaque and a filth, 
I fear taking off my mask for I know what the world wants.

I fear being real for I know the world that’s virtual.
That the world cares the material that is casted off.
So why do I not fake myself?
Why do I let my soul be under the feet? 
The mask is a counterfeit I am aware.
But the world isn’t real either.