His cigarette began the conversation by accusing him of being the villain. There's so little skin between cancer and cure it said. You'd rather be a victim. I'm a convenient friend in that way.
The leotard nodded. The hollow eye holes of the mask stretched a bit as he approached himself one more. All his muscle showing. Now that he'd taken off his skin. All his muscle showing like a new costume. The monster underneath the monster that he is.
Have I always been this ugly? Have I always been this naked? Just looking for an excuse to say I can. Wear the mask that has always been my face.
It doesn't matter that I'm ugly. It doesn't matter that I'm lost. Now that I've found a way to hate.
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