I was born human, but my soul is inhumane.
I study my own reflection, wondering just what lies behind my empty stare.
The frailty of a broken mirror, resembling fact and fiction.
When it comes down to it; the barest of the bone, I have no idea what I am trying to tell myself.
I sit within these concrete walls with posters of self-help and flyers for support groups.
It's my first day.
My legs have their own rhythm, my brain's run off course.
I look at every footstep, hoping its not one who knew me in my past life.

Within the daze I find myself in, I start to wander.
Maybe we're all of the same tale, just different characters.
Certain elements to the same story can turn a person back-wards.
We all want the same ending,
but finding our own paths to get there justifies the difference in all of us.
We all want spirits to grant us with light blessings,
a reason into living in this run down reality.
Suddenly, my name is called.

I follow, leaving behind my everlasting steps of freedom into an unknown world.
They tell me what I already know.
It's the good days to die for, the obscene ones are worth living,
but somehow I view opposite.
They tell me in such a cold, unforgiving way.
They tell me to take what they give me and I'll end up creating my own ending.
I start to wander again.
Am I a human or an animal that needs to be put down?
Am I a problem that needs to be controlled?
I want to shed my second skin and dream all the things I never got too.
I want to stop jumping from one side of my soul to the other.