Alone, in this darkness, this cloak, I pursue a moment of ephemeral relief and commence my vortex into an unknown territory of exposure – where is allowed a glimpse of what lay beneath. A torrent of painfully derived emotions are kept beneath this cloak, suppressed by its weight; ever increasing as I endure its refuge, its torture. And although emotion and torture seem to plight my ability to relate, I venture now to set aside my search for sustenance and resort to the setting down of my own begrudging condemnation of the exact cloak which I so loathe and yet seem paralyzed at the prospect of its removal, the life I lead beneath it. Having pursued sustenance vicariously – gay internet chat rooms, “you tubing” gay coming out stories and gay themed movies, reading gay related literature, watching gay porn, buying the cutest clothes and yet having to hide me having bought them and finding occasion to wear them, crossing my legs and popping my collar, sunbathing nude in the backyard, flaunting around the house when no one is home, trying to make eye contact with any guy that I just might be able to pour my heart out to, secretly checking them out at the same time – I feel obligated to offer to those hiding themselves beneath a similar cloak a reprieve, and perhaps a means to its finality – as I see my tenure underneath its oppression pending, or so I hope. Devour though I did the best of gay themed movies their message seemed contrived; a bridge to the mundane of my trivial angst was and still remains my earnest desire. Thus, for now, enveloped in the ecstasies of misery, I relate and share with you, reader if you be their, the fabric of my cloak; the thread of my quilted perception; my life, a lie.