Mask

The jester’s mask was always in pristine condition,

It had to be to do it’s job,

Concealing,

Faking,

Deceiving,

Weaving intricate webs of lies,

But today the delicate string of his webs only seemed to cling to him,

Sticky,

Unforgiving,

He was unable to shake it off no matter how hard he tried,

It felt like he was drowning,

Like he was nothing more than an insect,

And close by there was a spider,

Not so patiently awaiting its dinner.