A thread of spidersilk

hangs between two worlds;

one swathed in stale candy flossing

the other hidden with poisoned apples.

Gracing this bridge

I dare tread upon

are masks of the past

waiting to be worn.

So each time my visage

is disguised with another's sin

I'm mistaken as the hero

who comes to save the day.

But what happens backstage

are the memorable scenes

where words and written ink

deliver the rewarding end.

Regardless, the curtain falls

The crowd stands and applauds;

Roses land at my feet

And I bow, my mask betraying my smile.