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What is this mask I feel on my face?

It is getting

heavier and heavier…

The frozen outside wind

has got me used to often wearing it,

and to shelter from its breath

I always end up

wearing it.

Once I played with my mask

like a child in front of the mirror,

I wore it for a little while

and then I took it off:

it was nice to see myself

with other features,

it was even stimulating.

Then the game ​

became dangerous.

Now at home,

curled up in a corner

I take off my mask,

and I touch with my fingers

my ruined skin.

My mortal sickness

has spread inside,

I cannot communicate

with myself anymore.

Mask and soul

don’t touch each other anymore

and the silent void between them

is killing me.

Masks and masks circle me,

they come up to me with their paper smiles.

​I am tired of this continuous macabre carnival,

rather than people dressed up as monsters,

I see monsters dressed up as

people.

A new awareness elevates me,

taking me towards barren lands.

Here, where time doesn’t exist,

Appearance,

entirely cut off from essence,

is by now out of my control.

Is there something inside me?

Or have I become hollow

Like this fuckin’ mask?

My mortal sickness has spread inside,

I cannot communicate with myself anymore.

Mask and soul don’t touch each other anymore

and the silent void between them

is killing me.

I am tired of this

continuous macabre carnival,

rather than people dressed up as monsters,

I see monsters dressed up as people.

And to live with the fear

Of having become cold like death…

Touch my lips,

Are they really so cold?