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.