My arms sag with the weight of this paper mask I hold up to my face.

The constant disfigurement of my emotions is taking its toll, cent after cent of my soul, lost to the ether.

I am going insane.

Slowly.

But surely.

It eats away at my mind, picking off crumbs here and there, like a starving animal.

Pieces of me are dripping through my fingers like honey, leaving a sticky residue of sickly sweet memories, reminders of what I once was.

This mask will be the end of me, I’m sure. Everyday the paper melds more and more into my skin, and I scream.

But no one hears.