Random Leaf #1937 precisely cut

And somehow

the mask,

all time

overused, overworn,

finds itself

bathed by

overwhelming gaze.

Have I

ultimately realized

a story—

unforetold, ignored,

left by

the time—

for it

symbolized nothing,

yet it

actually does?

Have I

failed, myself,

a writer,

an author,

of a

great tragedy

waiting to

be discovered?

The mask

does laugh—

it is

very different

from the

voice that

laughs within.

I am

the same

person twice.

And I,

long ago,

had realized—

yet I

strangely misremembered.

I got

so used

to wearing

another name,

that a

face so

different from

mine became.

If only

they could

understand me

more than

I have

failed myself.

I am,

and at

the same

time not.