This Masquerade

Why do we hold these pretenses? Trying to be something we are not? Who placed this pressure on us that we must fight so hard to maintain our cover. We constantly live in fear of our cover being blown, worrying that we will be discovered in our fantasy. So why do we keep this up, this fiction, carrying on with this never ending charade. Are we afraid to admit defeat, to accept that everything has actually fallen apart? we've been dancing in a masquerade , hiding behind beautiful masks but if removed would show that our faces are dead. we all know it, but no one wants to admit it, or is it that we don't want anyone to know how dead we really are, yet in all honesty we all have the same condition. The only cure is acceptance and so I have removed my mask. You see my face and are disgusted but you have refused to admit you are the same but in reality we are not. I have accepted my death, I have found my cure, I am not like you.