Last Chance Mask

 

When masking the lacking

with the

Last Chance Mask,

the physically weak,

the agonizing grief…

it's easier to reap

petals with weak roots,

bleeding toes

in combat boots

when rain-drenched

they must be removed,

revealing the truth,

breaking the fools,

and so back

to the static

state of affairs

lives me in

a cold, 

but charismatic

lair.


Sweetly stalwart mask is removed,

and under, it's bruised…

with frustration and tears,

winding, crawling fears...

The conundrum of horrors

is hard to reveal,

to form,

let alone sustain

true hope

within zeal.

And the rain,

to be frank

is a monsoon,

pouring and pouring.

I'm trying to breathe,

let alone

hum a tune.


When you cannot achieve

the ability to leave 

what really is a private hell,

to reach reprieve from this well,

and so the wounds swell,

the tap water’s heat

is too tepid

too bleached

and decrepit.


For salvation, I pray

while basting away.


It is so very lonely

to want to grow

but be trapped

by being broke

while trapped in

dilemma so rare

few understand

even how to care.


If only folks could see

the smug smile

is bleeding, pseudo glee

ready to fight

the powers that be

for the last chance

to find a key 

for the last chance

to be freed


Last Chance Mask.


2018


Enjoy reading Purple Ashes In the Sky on Blogger and consider

supporting the book via purchase or donating to my Go Fund Me.

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