Terribilis est locus iste

The costume I wear and the script I recite is so convincing. No one even suspects that I’m a hollow intangible mirage, a mirror reversed to all that seems to pour out of me. A truth so inconceivably opposite; so profoundly at odds with the wholly embraced character that has fooled all. Distraction is my only direction. And I’m so good at waltzing in this masquerade, not even a whisper of doubt has stirred, not even when I say things so contrary to what I am inside and really feel. I pull people out of realms that I really exist in. Away from darkness I actually understand and agree with. No one even suspects that my footprints are bloody and my soul is rotting and the light that draws them to me is borrowed like the moon reflects the sun. The light I give is refracted beauty hijacked and diverted where I want to unleash it. It never touches me. It never profits me. Maybe it’s not all bad- the pantomime pretence produces good regardless of it being a work of simulated fiction. The automated lie that doesn’t exist for real at all, is swaying people into thinking there is light. Twisting people into faith that there is light. Infiltrating mindsets so they shift toward the light. I can pull people out of the darkness- with so much ease, energy, instinct, and conviction while that dark is really all I am and breathe. Behind the theatre curtain, I am desolation, empty, dead. A hollow void. At least I’m somehow doing good I guess. Though it won’t count when my heart is weighed…