Two Masks & Their Story

on the spot

Masks are only for people with either two ears

One: a soul, broken enough to be influenced by corrupt societal ideals

And two: a spirit bound to earth by her deeds; all past mistakes, forgiven

I saw her walking away

Tear stains littered the ground; broken glass glittered, bouncing off the glint of the sun

She stopped walking, then

Looked down and bent down low to get a closer look

She was looking down at herself

A puddle of memories reflecting back at her

She started to cry again

This time, though

No tears came out

Only her sobs, her violent torrents washing over her as she wavered back and forth

She caved in over herself and suddenly everyone’s words were penetrative

Rushing through her body as if she was an invisible energetic being

She learned something in that moment: she wasn’t worth it; she wasn’t worth fighting for anymore

So she got back up, not looking back at her past a glance, turned on her heels and dissolved; disappearing into the nothingness, just like everyone’s words.

She believed of herself a saint; her mistakes, forgiven by the second

She only learned later on, there were people that hated her for it

Sometimes, as I took a stroll through those trees, I saw her; sitting across the river, her hands bowed to the river

I’d never be seen with her, neither without, she always seemed to be around me

Always seemed to be… draining the aspect of my energetic aura

But she neither saw me, nor talked to me if she did

Our eyes would lock; deep in thought, accidentally

She would never say anything to me

She was known to do the wrong things, at the wrong times, she was often mistaken for the devil; her words were potlucks of seduction and charm

I saw right through her

She knew

She believed it for the better; she was a saint, the messiah for her people of wrongness and misguidance

In truth, it was she who went astray, but was forgiven immediately

But of course; she and I, one and the same, both humans

Whatever wrong she did, in her mind, she was forgiven

But whatever wrong I did; never shrugged off in the least

For it is those very same things that make up who I am

But she, who was she to say her mistakes were forgiven without notice?

But then again, who am I to say they weren’t?