i assume my role with reluctance,
no shortage of resistance. i have dug
my grave - unknowingly, when i first came home proudly donning a perfect report card - and now i must lie in it.
this is the mess i have made for myself.
this is the role i have been painted in.
so get up, girl, and get to it. plaster on your
mask of wide, dazzling smiles and
happy hazel eyes; stuff your mouth
with those beats of laughter you have
mastered and force them down your throat.
scream until you are raw.
suffocate on those lies that spout too easily
from your tainted tongue - you deserve it, girl, you brought this unto yourself. lies beget lies.
don't you dare complain when the tall tales
and exaggerated experiences choke you
as you struggle to swallow the
burning web of lies.
you are a spider and this, what you've
drawn, is your web. every silken strand was cast with knowledge and motive
and intent - you knew what you were doing,
knew what you were condemning yourself to. do not act as if damnation surprises you.
this web of lies is yours; own it. it will
haunt you forever, your shrine of sins.
you will never escape this.
your role is your life.
you cannot repaint yourself - not now. not when you have spent years relishing in it, accepting praise and accolades, demanding more as if it were your birthright.
you are off the deep end now and
the only salvation you will ever know is when
your feet meet the ground as you sink into
the abysmal despair of lies and blood you created.
don't complain, girl, this is the role you were
born to play. resistance is futile.
you are a liar. you are sick. you are hurt.
take your place on the stage and feel how that
spotlight scalds you. pray your skin withers away until you are nothing but ash.
from your little pile of ash, do you feel mighty? do your lies still rule the world?
do you feel it - anything at all?
oh, how warm it is down here.
you painted the air red and it is coated in your filth and the ground is tainted with
the stuff the sinners spread.
you are wrapped in it all, your little blanket
of dishonesty. would it kill you
just once to tell the truth,
to step out of the spotlight you have grown
so fond of and speak the truth, even if its
from the shadows? why have you mistook this sick habit as your role, your destiny?
that dress you flaunt - why must you wear it proudly, why must you never let
the audience see how it burns your skin so?
take off that mask, girl, you know
it makes you sick. it scorches your skin but still you force it on everyday until it is molded perfectly with you.
you are one with this mask.
what a slow way to die, girl, day after day
after day.
