There is a mask upon my face,
That I have forged of fears.
Taking inspiration,
From all that’s made my tears.
Their looks.
My metals,
And their words an endless flame.
Tools.
Of my own regrets,
That I shall never tame.
It’s burning through my skin,
No matter how I plead.
It brings me so much pain,
And yet I never bleed.
I try and try to rip it off,
But its chains are in my skull.
And yet I shall still pull and pull,
But all the hope is null.
My struggling draws their glares,
Reinforcing twisted binds.
Hopes and passions endlessly trapped.
A drive within,
rendered blind.
A façade given life,
With no purpose, but to fake.
Truth, buried deep inside,
Under the fear of a mistake.
A shrivelled soul
Small and weak,
Begging for a break.
A giant beast
Fangs of mind,
Keeping it awake.
And I’m yearning for relief,
But the mask won’t let me beg.
My voice a whisper through the iron,
As the chains creep down my leg.
It might be that they’re right,
I belong among the fae.
Maybe I’m a changeling,
Some creature on display.
Even now,
I hear a sound,
With no wish to be free.
The mask brings a safety,
Along with agony.
Yet here,
As I write this,
Small shards become unbound.
A voice beginning to awake,
Flame yet to be found.
The crushing metals are still there,
They may forever be.
But for a few
fickle moments,
I feel no need to flee.