Masks

I wear many masks on my face, masks that keep me safe tucked away
But don’t be fooled, no don’t be fooled
For they are not who I am, but more so who I am not
I have lived with them for so long, they are a part of me
Much like the air that I breath
I have never seen my own face in the mirror, for the masks I wear are plenty
Even when I think they are off they are not, therefore, I have never seen my own face
I no longer want to be the faceless man, who walks around in disguise
The one thing I can never hide, is the pain beneath my mask, deep within my eyes
Conditioned from prison time, or is it the addict that lives inside
At times, I’m not even sure how I feel inside
Even when I’m happy, my mask will tell yet another lie
It will present a grim face, unable to be change
A protective measure, or a bi-product of being enraged
If that is the case, I am a slave
A slave to the pain and rage, a slave to what the others have made
A past that I cannot change, cannot leave behind
Trapped within one’s mind, so with these masks I hide
I am great at killings things, but I cannot seem to kill the past
So as an addict what I know best, is to put on and wear a mask
After all these years it’s tiring, and somethings got to give
You learn a thing or two about recovery, and get a taste of what it’s like to live
As the road to recovery presses on, I chip away what I know as my face
This mask begins to crumble, all the past begins to fade
What I once knew as my mask, was nothing more than a past
An identity, a modality, an impression of sorrow and pain,
Molded into a mask that I let others use to cover my face
The mask was never really mine, but theirs, that they used to cover
To cover something much more beautiful,
In hopes no one else could discover