Thrasher's Call

I cannot now pretend there is no problem. I can’t fit my heart and soul into your mask; it cuts the wounds, stops healing. So no, although you ask,

I cannot. Now, pretend there is no problem; pretend the wounds aren’t there, or that you care to see them and want to help with their repair;

I cannot now pretend. There is no problem so big you won’t ignore it – no wound so deep you’ll see and maybe, just once, put down your pride for me;

I cannot now pretend there is. No problem, I learned not to expect your love long ago, when I was the child who longed to be known.

I cannot now pretend there is no problem. The trophied charade your public face still demands holds no weight with me; I am free from your crushing hands.