The Pointless Ritual

Nothing but horses on a merry go round, painted faces, costumes and lies based on facts. We’re all wearing masks that disguise us from ourselves more than others, making it so hard for anyone to really know at all what they want or need until they lose it. There is no typical or expected or proper or appropriate; only expectations of propriety and viability of options and hiding tears behind smiles and running up hills and down aisles. It’s padded chairs and seat belts and artificial light and plans never completed- Love never returned, and electric blankets and solitary music and pictures of angels and books about lovers.