You know how the story goes –
Christine pulls off his mask.
She turns away in fear and horror at
the putrefaction bubbling below.
But you can’t blame her this time.
She preferred the illusion.
You can't blame her.
You revealed your own horror.
You shoved your grisly soul
beneath her nose. She threw up.
Don’t tell me you’re surprised.
You’ve known the ending all along.
From now on, I’ll be my own angel.
From now on, I’ll sing my own songs.