Introduction

When the Mask Slips explores the fragile boundary between performed sanity and inner unraveling. Through vivid imagery, surreal metaphor, and a self-aware voice, Rowan Evans captures the terror and beauty of identity under pressure, where the mask may be all that stands between perception and emptiness.

When the Mask Slips
Poetry by Rowan Evans

I am going to be honest—

I think I’ve lost my mind,
I’ve been drifting in this mental fog.
Wandering. Lost.
Not sure what I was trying to find,
not sure what was the cost.

But I’ve been—
orbiting annihilation,
facing Armageddon
in phases—
the moon isn’t the only thing
that disappears piece by piece.

I keep losing track of my thoughts
like loose teeth—
wiggling them
just to feel something give.
I’m just a Mad Hatter,
with a Cheshire grin—
screaming “Off with their heads!”
just to hear the echo—
make sure the room and I are still real.

Sometimes—
I cosplay sanity,
like I have a grasp on reality.
Like I know the meaning of stability—
mentally.
I dress up, pretend that I’m normal—
but it feels too boring and formal,
too exposed.
Too much light, not enough shade,
too many eyes on my face.

And underneath it all,
I’m terrified there’s nothing there—
when the world stops being a stage,
when existence stops being a performance.
When the mask slips…
and it’s just me.

(God, what if that’s worse?)

Author’s Note

This poem sits at the edge between humor and unraveling—between the persona we show the world and the version of ourselves we hope no one ever sees. It isn’t about insanity; it’s about the fear that sanity might be nothing more than costume, choreography, and survival instinct.

It uses absurdity as honesty, because sometimes the surreal is the only language for a fraying mind. The Wonderland imagery isn’t playful fantasy—it’s metaphorical dissociation. The poem is meant to feel unsteady, spiraling, self-aware, and a little unhinged. It asks:

What if the mask isn’t hiding anything?
What if the performance is the person?

This piece reflects the quiet terror of identity erosion—the dread that beneath the jokes, the aesthetics, the manic charm, and the polished poetry… there may be nothing solid to hold onto.

If you’re looking for more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]