The Faceless Man

Secretly, he bleaches the stains of scarlet off his shirt. He picks blood crust off every mask before he goes to bed. While enduring horrid dreams of isolation and of shun, he crushes his face firmly to his pillows to clot the blood. When he wakes he picks his face the same you would a shirt. He tries it on and looks in the mirror and prepares for the day ahead. Now here’s the craft his dexterous fingers modestly denounce, seamlessly, yes, without fault, he merges the face to his skull and smirks at his reflection to congratulate his art. He calls himself an actor (and I’m sure you’ve heard that before) But he claims that he’s the best and mocks the rest who claim he’s not. You know the faceless man, you think you love him, but you’re wrong. You’ve only seen the mask, and heard the actor’s song. He claims his godly perfection is your missing link to survive. He’s a liar, just a mask, and you can not love a mask. He’ll stab your heart and lift your face and mount it to his wall. The wall of victims he has studied to better improve his skills. Look around at who surround you daily in your life, He’s disguised and hard to find between your family and your friends. Now you could search for years and hide from everyone you know, but I’ll save you the effort and put the spotlight on him now. The great pretender we all hate to love is me...