mask

beneath the hill
beside the river
in shade of willow trees
a path goes where i used to be
inside my hut
under the bed
a hole, once i had dug
i filled it up
with knicks and knacks
when i left for my king
but i come back
every now and then
to take a look at my things
i dig the earth
to see the thing
that i had buried once
the chest is ugly
bruised, scarred, filthy
opening it is no fun
but open it, i do
i look inside too
at the past i try to forget
but it sticks to me
like a leech
a hungry hungry pest
nostalgia is a bitch
i take the old rags
inhale them deep
just so i can remember
as i go back into the sewer of world
just to return here next december
my mask is true for one more year
i wear is proudly like a beast
i know i have nothing to fear
not till next year at least