7 of swords
Imagine you are wearing a mask made of lies, secrets, and half-truths. Who would you become if you wore this mask every day?
is the font always this big? it seems bigger than usual. i can see this mask clearly. almost like someone just opened a door in my mind . whatever door seperates me from my imagination. like the seperation and space between us never really existed. its frightening, but immersive. the mask is somehow alive within me. almost as if a door to ancient times exists beyond this mask and now i am faced fully with the weight of eons of time suddenly. no wonder i take such tiny steps. the sheer perceived size of it. who would i become? oh i probably already am her. some kind of mask like techtonic plates or a stone disease all over my face. half falling apart half still in tact, bits, bits of it still stuck and glued to my face, other bits not. lies, secrets, half truths....no choice, when you rely on them for your very survival. but what do i see now? oh nothing now.. only cruel words now.. stop dont even bother to write another thing, you'll only fail. fail, fail, fail. fail all you do is fail. you fail and fail, all you can do is fail. but fail at what? i dont push back and question myself enough. pushing back like a power bottom. they wont like that, they wont like that. and on and on and it never stops. maybe like morris. he gets it. never ending, on and on. now the image still there but different.. further away, perspective, still vast but not in the same way. longer now, like a tube. like its at the end of a tube. exasperation. so much exasperation at me. why? because i'm somehow failing, somehow not good enough, not enough for these obscure and totally not understandable standards i have set for myself. now youre distant like a dream. i could loose myself in that world. perhaps that is where i am meant to go.. towards him and connect with him somehow. but i have to sleep. but maybe the wall between us isnt the same as before.
