Goodbye, Oblivion. Goodbye. Goodbye. Farewell. Fare thee well, stupid stupor.
I have worn a mask. Put it on. Taken it off. Worn it into until the mask became part of my fascia. Muscles. Bones. Ossified. Mask. Worn in. Then washed over with sediment. Fossil. Frozen. Patterned. Light and dark. I can feel when my mask arrives. I can put it on without hands. The mask fits like a glove. Well worn. Well served and serving well. In moments of discomfort. Uncertainty. There. There it is. Mask. Worn in bright sun or shade. So familiar and comforting and rigid and preposterous and preoccupying. Mask.
Goodbye, Oblivion. Goodbye. Goodbye. Farewell. Fare thee well, stupid stupor!