The Mask IIThey tell me that to wear a mask is no bad thing.No horrible tragedy or disgusting flaw.It's just something that happensTo all of usAnd no one can escape it.For some reason my mind rebels against this notion.I have a friend (yes, it's always a friend) whose parents are getting divorced.I won't tell you who it doesn't matterI won't tell you why that also doesn't matterAll that matters is that it happened.And now she wears a mask.A mask of happiness, yes, but one all the more hurtful because of thatShe laughs and cries in the same breath, and tries to pass the tears off as signs ofhappiness.But I know better.I've seen her without the mask.I've seen it growing, as she grew and her troubles mounted.I offered her my help if I could, but she didn't notice.That might have been because I was hiding behind my own maskThe mask of social nicetiesThe one that says, no matter what, if they don't tell you what's wrong than nothing'swrong!But that's also a lie.Onc
ThemThey told me to dance, so I danced for themPlayed their puppet games.They pulled me one wayMy heart pulled anotherBut they had a leash on my soul.I followed their footstepsTo the left, to the rightStep back,Twirl,Lose control.They told me to leap, and I asked, "How high?"They laughed, and tugged on my strings.My hands are no longer my own,But my heart still pulls at the reinsAgain I move into the danceAgain without controlMy body leapsThrough a hoopThrough a fireAgain I lose my soul.They told me to sing, but at last I refusedI could not give them my final partThey can take my handsTie my feetEven chain my soulBut they cannot have my heart.
WindowsThis is my eye, do you like it?It shows my very soul.My hopes and dreams,My worn out seams,All crushed into a whole.Look at the iris, ain't it pretty?All brown and green and blue.Hidden colorsLike starlight gleamAnd hide amidst the dew.And there's the white, so clean and pure.Yet soft seamed through with blood.A gentle touchThe vessels burstWe'll all drown in the flood.Then the pupil, rimmed with blackThe darkest night could not compare.Yet it's the keyGives sight to meSo how can I ever despair?
HonestyI find it difficult to write.Every word comes out wrong fights me pulses clear and sharp inside my brain head, but vanishes as I try attempt to get it on paper.I don't know if I've ever told anyone this, but I love to write on paper. Typing dreives drives me up the wall.Yet as soon as I put pen to paper?Poof.No work words.That bubbling, unceasing ste stream of words that constantly flows throun through my mind?Bye-bye.See you later.Worse than that frustration, is when I do when I do write, I hate it.I loathe it.It's stupic stupid pitiful crap that makes me cringe when I read it later.I ask myself "What were you thinking, you stupid, moronic, idion idiotic nitwit!?I can't stand my own writen writing.Isn't that sad?When I wa
Down the Rabbit's Hole - 5December 22I don't know why I keep writing in this journal. It's not like anyone else is ever going to read it.At least no one who's not a zombie.Do they even remember how to read? I don't know. I don't really know much about zombies, except what I scrounged from the newspapers.I really should know more about them if I'm going to survive.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------December 25Found an abandoned farm today. Figured it was safe because of all the dead animals.I got two more knives and a whetstone, some warm jackets and a book. The book was the best find of all. It is the published research papers of Dr. Aaron Dearborne. Although it looks very dry and long-winded, this is my best chance to find out more about the zombies.Maybe - it sounds stupid, even to me - maybe I could find a cure?Tonight, I sleep in a warm bed for the first time in months.Merry Christmas to me.---
Down the Rabbit's Hole - 4December 21It started with a mad government.I know that people generally blame the mad scientist, but you have to understand that for me, it's always about the ultimate responsibility. And since it was the government that researched, started and funded the project, the government is to blame.Although that doesn't make the scientist any less mad.His name was Dr. Aaron Dearborne. He doesn't sound very threatening, does he? He could be any of a million other scientists out there, doing research on their various sciency things. He, in particular, worked for the government, on a secret project. I would have said top secret, but really it wasn't THAT secret at all. It was an open secret. It was open because nobody believed it. The general public thought it was simply another ridiculous rumor, like the ones circulating about Area 51.How wrong we all were.He was working to develop zombies. Oh, I know that wasn't what the military called it, they called them "Super Soldiers" or som