I dressed my wounds
with dirty linen —
a faked grin
(crimson painted)
masks a bleeding heart.
Can you sense the scent
of gangrene yet?
Clown by Nicolae Tonitza
A second offering for Mish on masks at dVerse.
—
October 25, 2015
Writing about living in two places (and times)
Poems & Stories from The Author Stew
practising for a whole life
haikai poetry matters
Running in the slow lane
The view from here ... Or here!
“Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” — Albert Einstein
chronicling my quarter life crisis
Björn Rudbergs writings 
Dark stuff here Bjorn.
Oh….if you could see me right now…..I am grimacing! Wow — these words are visceral and surely got a reaction from me.
Darkly bleeding…good one Bjorn ~
a faked grin
masks a bleeding heart
One can’t really see the pain others are suffering then! Best not to bother others with our troubles!
Hank
Oh those festering internal wounds…not treated properly, will never heal.
One has to mask the scent as well with something.
Ugh! Have you ever smelt gangrenous flesh?
No fortunately not… imagine it smells like dead rats or similar.
Well, I’ve never smelt a dead rat…..
You can smell dead things…it is putrid. “sloughy” (sluffy) is another gone off infected smell…this mask is sloughy…
Very impactful – then again, masks often are – by virtue of the concealment they effect AND by virtue of the manner and choice of mask with which concealment is achieved.
The gangrene whiff is there and growing.
You really do dark so very good.