Switches

 

Faces fastidiously formed to fit any occasion

in the basement where repairs are made

unto the mistakes that happened far too often.

 

Just a flip of the switch in the head

so it turns on a different light to reveal another image

of the role crafted to wear for others,

with the tools used to make that persona

always stored in a box with fears.

 

Ever worried the power of dreams shall fail,

some surge in truth will short circuit the façade,

then the clown, wizard, fallen angel and warrior

may suddenly die in the blackout of lies,

simply stressed over the possible end

unto that charade played so often.

 

Still keeping the collection carefully preserved

even when some are torn and disfigured,

for existence is too harsh in the day at times

to risk being seen without that covering.

 

As long as those controls in the mind

allow the illusion to remain reality,

survival becomes a costume party

without a need for an invitation,

where you can be every guest

simply by changing profiles,

until you forget who you really are

and the scars hidden by the masks.