Streets

You wear a mask for so long, and you begin to try to peel it off, but you are just clawing at face. Your fingers sink into stretchy flesh, but it has no plans of coming off, and what was underneath it? Is what is on the surface just the same? You look into the mirror and every once in a while realize that it is not your face. I am watching myself from a bird's eye view, and it dawns upon me to remind myself that this is not you. I don't know what's real, but this life isn't, and please don't make me be the one to say something. There is never anything to say.