That’s me,
but is it me
or just the thing
I’ve grown accustomed to wearing as my face and skin.
Does a mask ever dream of being the face,
does fiction ever fake being for real,
when does pretending become acting
and acting grow into living.
Am I who I was or am I what’s left,
is my soul staring at me from this mirror or someone else.
God’s playing tricks,
and I’m falling in everyone.
I’m not staring into a mirror,
I’m staring out of it,
I’m the mask cloaked across these burning eyes.
I was never me,
I was just playing the role of me as someone else
and now they’ve lost who they were and I fill the shoes.
These shoes are uncomfortably heavy,
they’re crushing the sanity I’m pretending to have,
and now the worlds coming to end,
I’m losing this war.
I don’t exist,
I was just a mask worn to fool the world,
I am no person
just the memory remains splattered across his shoes.
I Am….
I Am…..
i am…me and he is not him,
because he was never a he I am he,
there was never a mask for I never needed one.
This world never challenged me to hide from its devilish eyes
as I am no fool to its cowardly ways,
and I most certainly am no mask.
No skin to hide behind,
no lie to cower under,
for I am the mind of this body.
I am the reflection across that mirror
and I am the misunderstood individual before it.
That is me and this is I.