His finely-tailored suit
contrasts the callouses of his hands.
His combed dark hair
hides the darkness in his eyes.
His steps the shadows of the underbrush
does not decide whether he is there or not.
His unnerving silence
speaks of the battle of an ongoing conversation.

However of a dichotomy he might be,
he is the same man.
The same kind.
Same impostor.
Same boy
with the same lies.
For we are all the same,
with tailored suits,
when we have something to hide.