The Ghosts of my sanity play tricks on my mind.
I hear the raspy intake of breath from my executioner;
Feel his panting like acrid smog on my neck.
My skin crawls as I turn to face him;
How can I live with myself if I run away?

The mask he wears is not as I imagined it to be.
I was expecting pure ebony black satin, smooth as a moonlit night;
With two even holes to express his soul, a gleaming plethora of stars and comets.
An untainted deepness to bring a well of tears or an unknown understanding of things to come.
Instead I am faced with emptiness?

My face falls as I realize the truth, staring back at me through dead, useless sockets.
The mask is nothing more then a spider web, stuck fast to a soulless corpse.
I am hurt by this unfairness, by the predictability of my pain.
I sink to my knees and am unable to weep, so I turn away from myself as I raise the axe high and let it drop.
My final thought as the darkness takes me: Is this all I was?