• I could feel the heavy presence of quotation marks
    pressing down on my words
    like an omniscient snow that covered
    the flawed imperfections of a withering land.
    There were moments between those bright lights
    when I could feel reality seeping through the cracks in my smile,
    covering the floor with an embarrassing pool of truth.
    I had done well.
    My eyes veiled by attempt at something less deep—
    a gesticulation of simple proportions:
    an over complication to my stream of thought.

    Beneath my eyes they felt like sand bags,
    filled dense with my lack of sleep.
    They accomplished little aside from casting long
    shadows across my emaciated charisma,
    as I stood stark still,
    lines forgotten,
    the concept of pretension still heavy on my tongue.

    It would be an easy unveiling.
    But I had courage for the audience of only a mirror,
    a static piece of non-consciousness
    that would not ever corrupt
    the allegations I had against my masks.