That mask you think you hide behind
You fashioned from bits and pieces
Torn from your own heart
And flung into the maelstrom
Without pity,
Without a second glance

I see it written in your soul
Like dead spots on the leaves
Of wakefulness
Like unforgotten regrets
Along strewn alleys

That mask is you no less
Than the unstrange and fatal
Inner master
You stroke so tenderly
Himself a puppet
Himself a summoned
Serpent
Impossible to dismiss

Discard those mirrors
They only contort

The face visible to yourself alone
Is your mask alone