Turning Grins

The angle held her tight in its grasp. A bitten fingernail just about to bleed. The skin waiting for the perfect moment to break.

Reveal.

Intrinsic weakness. The red follows every sigh with a hungry pen.

He wore nothing and everything. That cold masquerade. His monster donning him. I would watch his eyes blinking through the holes jadedly cut in that jittery mask. Follow the shadows as they conducted their silent symphony. Try to hear the music.

I always thought I saw. Those pigeons on the window sill. Thought I heard simply because I'd listened.

But those were different rooms. Different voices.

This box still waits to be opened.

With every color. In every strand. It waits. For someone to remove the lid.

Reveal.

All that's been hidden.

Devour the curtain. Beat the stage. Stripping every last role down to its victim. And then. Maybe then. We will remember who we were.

If we ever knew.