Bloody Masquerade
Down the steel goes, stainless sheen in tow. It bites fair skin to uncover crimson gold, an occurrence often told. Trickling down soft flesh, tales of sin once again go untold. You see this scarlet bleed out from me, yet it is not enough. Still you say a mask is required, if I am to join this choir. And then you wonder why I never attend your social soirees.
My blood pumps through the visceral chambers of a nonexistent organ, how else could one explain this lack of sentimentality? I am bereft of empathy, so I must be mentally diseased--this can be the only explanation. And I claim to be emotionally stagnant? How comedic, it must be a joke! No one who smiles like so could ever possibly have such languish social prowess, so stop saying you’re a sociopath--it’s worth quite the laugh!
How can you be so blind to reality? There is no falsity within these words I say: I am a sociopath, I care not for your day. I smile everyday, so it’s naught but imaginary--have you not once seen a mask? Logic dictates my life, so I say, and logic dictates to bury who I truly am in order to seamlessly fit in with this social soiree. Or else I shall suffer the repeated troubles of days gone past, when I strived so hard to fit into your rigid expectations. And just because I can find my blackened heart beating for one who has seen and accepts the me six feet below the ground, this means I am nothing more than anti-social? You do not understand my role in this play.
So worry not, I will not burden you with the knowledge so overtly shunned by society--I will continue to wear this mask for your masquerade.
