From the dark recesses…

Something new. Please do not share without credit.

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Face value means nothing when you wear a Janus mask,

and you shroud yourself in the art of fabrication.

My feet seem forever planted on the fine line,

as I balance precariously between blithesome and bother.

Fear won’t allow me to speak, lest you become annoyed.

So, I remain, locked in this painful silence; interactions delicate and fleeting.

Your artful tongue never tasting my name, for it does not linger there.

I merely exist in the shadows.

Is your elusion intentional?

© 2024 by Twisted Libra

Don’t judge, it isn’t exactly a finished piece. I may tweak it a bit more. This is what I have for now.

Until next time…