from one side, a languid woman masked in comedy
strifes into frame, her long arms outlaid
from the other, a slouched man masked in tragedy
sullenly skulks across stage, sanctioning a section
of his emotions for pain

she approaches him, a wispy finger a threat
to turn his soul completely to dust
his head refuses to be consumed by the debt
should he risk that sight, see that face, too much, trust

that she is only here to mock him for
being so prone to emotion and weening
there it is, so calling, the door!
if he could leave, he would give himself a good cleaning

of his torment, so latent and trapped within
through song, it's released as though it belonged
out of his throat, the enclosing can of tin
constricting around his neck, it wouldn't last, not that strong

but her giggles heal his wounds, and
she takes his hand in hers
"take a moment, it's okay, please understand"
warmth trails from her touch, no longer can he brr

no more, yes, please no more
this life already feels like a too-long play
so off the stage, they both leave, it feels like a chore
but these masks will appear another day