I’ve joined a cult but bought the wrong mask,

I wasn’t sure - I should’ve asked.

In a room of black cloaks and candles,

I’m holding my mask at strange angles.

It turns out I shouldn’t have worried so,

As the group turn and bend low

The masks are slipping,

Then they fall,

At hoods hands are gripping,

But I see it all.

Plastic masks lay on the floor,

I see monsters never seen before.