I ran out of roads to walk down and sailed the seven seas, more than men but less than a man, my ashes blowing in the wind and my words turning to whispers on the lips of the ones that once knew me.
Masks is what we wear, the truth is behind it, not out there. Made from cardboard, plastic or papier-mache, we think it hides all our cares away. Sometimes we switch masks, but we never take it off, afraid forever, to love.
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