The festival is now.
The light is dim.
The music is alive.
I feel it in my heart,
Spreading warmth throughout my body.
The mask is cool against my face,
A perfect contrast to the heat,
Keeps me contented enough.
Yet one thing is amiss.
He is here.
In a sea of dancing figures,
My love is here.
I try to hide, let the feathered mask protect me.
But he sees through my disguise.
His fingers brush the edge of my
sanity.
I try to let the music distract me,
But he has killed the beat.
I hear emptiness, and see only him.
I want to trust my love,
To let my mask fall,
Watch it break and shatter.
To kiss his innocence,
And hear his words of compassion.
But that is his disguise.
I think i see right through it.
I think I see something unpredictable.
But I'm to scared to approach.
If tonight is the night I break my feathered mask,
And hand him my blackened heart,
Will he paint it bright colours,
And mend my broken soul?
Or will he stab it with hate,
And grin as I die slowly inside.
My soul is already dead,
My heart is close to rot,
Does he know this?
I'm sure he does.
My fear is strong,
Laced between the edges of my mask.
His eyes question what I will do next.
What will I do next?
That's not the question.
Why?
Why do I love him?
The answer is unknown,
Foreign.
So my mask stays,
Same with the cold feeling on my face.
