Nö Mask for Me

---

The streets look staged like paper walls,

people walking pre-rehearsed.

Every move a practiced gesture,

every smile a quiet curse.

No one questions what they follow,

only how they need to shine.

And if you tell the truth out loud,

you’re the stranger

in a world that’s learned to lie just fine.

---

But in their eyes I see a shimmer,

something trembling underneath —

they want to live,

but all they do

is breathe.

---

The world’s a theater

and I’m the only one without a mask on tonight.

They wear glitter, painted faces,

I wear wounds

and honest light.

And while they vanish in the spotlight,

all my shadows stay in sight.

They don’t see it —

but I can read

their real face in the night.

---

They chase their own reflections,

thinking it’s their guiding voice.

Speaking loud but meaning nothing —

habit dressed as choice.

And I wonder how long someone

can carry truth beneath their skin,

before the mask becomes

the cage

they start believing in.

---

And every day gets heavier

when you're the only one who feels.

Surrounded by these moving portraits

calling their illusions

real.

---

The world’s a theater

and I’m the only one without a mask on tonight.

They trade roles like plastic costumes,

I walk bare

through their disguised lights.

And while they fade into the background,

I stay visible and bright.

They don’t see it —

but I can read

their real face in the night.

---

Maybe truth can make you lonely,

but pretending makes you numb.

They dance inside the same old script,

never asking where it’s from.

I sit outside their audience,

quiet, still, a different view —

and none of them suspects

that I’m the only one

who doesn’t want

their cue.

---

The world’s a theater,

and I’m finally walking off their borrowed stage.

I don’t need the kind of spotlight

built from fear

and painted rage.

And when the lights go down at last,

their costumes crumble into dust.

I remain —

the one who lives

without a mask,

without their trust.