"The fabric covering my body makes my skin crawl, smothers me, adheres to both seen and unseen scars, ripping off scabs just barely healing, making me bleed once again, not only from the wounds, the cuts I inflict upon myself every night on stage; from my heart, my soul. The fabric that covers me is a mask I have no use for, and serves only to comply myself to what others want from me. And yet, the crowd roaring tells me they have come for more, they...