MASKS by Laura Merritt

My mind is zooming today.
My emotions are simmering to a low boil. The crust of the mask is softened. I pull off a piece of it. The warmth makes it pliable. I mold it between my fingers as it cools. Like wax it has the ability to take new shapes. To reform and cover what has been exposed. Evolving to renew itself from day to day. A beast that refines a deadly perfection of concealment. Smokescreening. Decoying the observers attention away.
The mask dries. Hardens into a shell. In the cold it is brittle. It will shatter.