Look at that ugly dead mask here and do not forget it. It is a chalk mask with dead dry poison behind it, like the death angel. It is what I was this fall, and what I never want to be again. The pouting disconsolate mouth, the flat, bored, numb, expressionless eyes: symptoms of the foul decay within.
I felt the mask crumple, the great poisonous store of corrosive ashes begin to spew out of my mouth.
God, it was good to let go, let the tight mask fall off, and the bewildered, chaotic fragments pour out. It was the purge, the catharsis.
Masks are the order of the day - and the least I can do is cultivate the illusion that I am gay, serene, not hollow and afraid.
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