Death of a Rose how many masks do i wear?, you ask.

holes formed without digging,
rest required to keep breathing,
let go of my past mistakes,
brevity worn into the lakes.

sequencing finality in two days,
grinning widely in my haze,
askance i purchased a snare,
read and placed with care.

dutifully bumped onto the road,
vanquished the still crumbling mold,
murder by these hands shaking,
madness driven, even staking.
what's it to you?
who go