Now every night I talk to myself, to the moon, to the stars, to the trees.
I sit on my roof and I face no one because it so much easier than facing people.
I will always say the wrong thing and leave at the wrong time.
You will look at me strange and I will turn red, maybe only on the inside.
On my roof I drag a blanket and I do not have to be happy or be
Valuable or be clever. I throw my masks to the sky, so many masks,
And I laugh as they fall with the stars.
I can walk to the moon, I can take my time.
This world on my roof, this universe accepts my being.
It does not strike me down.