somehow the mask has become my own face
you lift it up with your hands and there are no more stories
to be told: about love? there is none anymore, if you insist,
there might be one, but it was about the love that did not die,
and for which i have told you once, and for me to live some more
years, as i insist, i wore a mask full of love and laced with
lust, and then i met you and you say
i am beautiful.
you say you love me, and i fall on an abyss of silence,
and i keep on falling, and i should have told you about
a story that i keep on telling but which you have not heard,
some twists, a clinch, a pinch, an inch of truth
that could have reached you,
but you do not want to listen anymore,
this is a love story,
but at the scene when you begin to unrobe me,
i tell you the truth,
this is not about you and I,
this is still about my past,
about pain and sin,
how could you be so unkind?

RIC S. BASTASA

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-narrative-about-masks-and-love/