Life can feel like this sometimes, a never-ending horde of zombies.
But you gotta punch, kick, …fight fight fight…
and say “fuck you little dead eyed bastards….”
’til eventually you are the last one standing.
by Philip Wardlow
Your Mask
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Be it made of paper maché or plastic,
carved mahogany with a golden veneer,
or crystal clear quartz glass.
You wear one.
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Morning, noon, and night;
removed only when sleep comes.
For what purpose does it serve your dreams?
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Dead eyed stare, twisted grin, or a curious
smile that creeps ever upward hiding a secret
sin.
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Callous nature cloaked behind a beguiling
eye of the bluest blue.
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A beauty called to recklessness,
a perfection that only Death will strive
to collect once due.
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Know this.
All facades eventually decay and crumble.
Leaving you bare before everyone and yourself
as you stare into the mirror trying to
collect the pieces to a mask that no longer
fits.
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By Philip Wardlow 2013
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Feeling overwhelmed? Yes, wearing a mask does that to you sometimes.
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Mind • Body • Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽
undone in spectacle
she writes
A Wheel of Time Community
Mind • Body • Life
Dating, Poetry, and More
Ignorance is bliss / truth is necessary / rust in the soul
Where writers gather
Realise your innate perfection
poetry, fiction, and musings
Poetry
Erotic Fantasies
Let Your Eyes Do The Talking...
A Place to share My Love for Painting, Design, and Pottery
Hiking with snark in the beautiful Pacific Northwest 2011 - 2013
Reviews, raves, and rants. It's all about the books we read
weird alien 👽