somehow the mask has become my own face <br />you lift it up with your hands and there are no more stories <br />to be told: about love? there is none anymore, if you insist, <br />there might be one, but it was about the love that did not die, <br />and for which i have told you once, and for me to live some more <br />years, as i insist, i wore a mask full of love and laced with <br />lust, and then i met you and you say <br />i am beautiful. <br />you say you love me, and i fall on an abyss of silence, <br />and i keep on falling, and i should have told you about <br />a story that i keep on telling but which you have not heard, <br />some twists, a clinch, a pinch, an inch of truth <br />that could have reached you, <br />but you do not want to listen anymore, <br />this is a love story, <br />but at the scene when you begin to unrobe me, <br />i tell you the truth, <br />this is not about you and I, <br />this is still about my past, <br />about pain and sin, <br />how could you be so unkind?<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-narrative-about-masks-and-love/
