About Me

Perfect Cycle

Unending deliberation is castration, a hellfire sung by a phantom chior with one task, to mask each moment slowly and slowly, until one cannot see the message within the passage. My name, is Mask.

Member since Mar 26, 2008
Netherlands
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I'd rather, in stead of a autobiography, an urban verse.

A face masks. Concrete and glass cannot reflect the intellect, we collect verbs and rhymes in introspect, like clocks and times, we, hang, on a pendulum swinging, hoping, for an angel to sing and mask this tick-tock descent into...

A scent of metal, the iron hive in which we live, on a quest to find, yet we never give, our centers are dark, stark, unchanging, and our world's ever-ranging, yet....

We mask, we hide, we run from the spotlight and become night, out of sight, out from light, become like, insects crawling, like, crawling insects, like the various 'intellects' who have nothing to reflect.

A mask!