What Ifs Spewed Beneath Masquerades and Mushrooms

If I asked you to come with me to the masquerade
would you put on a mask,
and  believe just for a little while
that you were someone else?
I know something hides beneath that cosmetic miracle
you call a face. It shines
like the glow stick in the dark
swinging in rhythms to the majestic Deejay.

If I asked you for my hand in something much more than just this rave, and reactions are much less than grim.
I’d say only dashes of melancholy with drops of remorse.
I can see the rejection infiltrating your darling windows that allow me to see your soul.

If I accepted the fact that you aren’t my phantom,
nor my Demi-god,
How could you continue to live in the fashion
of which you do this day?
You’re dependence is shown on much
more than a materialistic level.
Admit it, I’m your syringe that keeps you
injected in this lifestyle.

If I were to cut you off, and watch you burn, would you cry?
I’d assume you’d use your looks to find someone else,
and say he’s better
while realizing I’m the best you’re ever gonna get.
Sorry dear, no more royalties.

If I said you embodied dear Alice
from that wretched Wonderland,
You’d only realize I’m just playing a game.
The real question is it you, or is it me?
One of us is addicted, and I know it ain’t me
yet, you know yourself better than that
You’d copy the very sounds from my tender lips.

If I were to kiss you,
just to shove your mouth full of my words,
Would you shriek as the alphabet invades your mind?
I’m no syringe dear, I’m supposed to be devoured, my love.
If I were you, if I were you, if I weren’t with you.
I’d be the happiest Prince of all.

If I were to tell you that enough is enough,
No take off the mask from the party of which we left.
You cannot fake it forever. Show some class.
“Alice, Alice, Where, Oh, where does the rabbit hole lead?”
“To the masquerade, of course,” the phantom replies.
You aren’t my princess and you aren’t my scorn.
You were just a simple escort. It was all for reputation.
I fake emotion, simple mannequins.
I thought you knew as you cry and cry
While you party in the place
where pity parties form and “What Ifs are uttered
Get yourself out of Wonderland. Stop inhaling me,
I’m  the toxin beneath the Mushroom.