Success does gleam,
Yet shadows twist, a haunting dream.
A fraudster's mask, he wears with dread,
Fearing truth, when lies are shed.
Each win, a bitter sting,
A hollow echo, that secrets bring.
In midnight hour, when doubts arise,
He questions his worth, beneath the skies.
Is this his due, this vaunted throne?
Or stolen glory, not his own?
The imposter syndrome takes its hold,
As darkness wraps, and stories unfold.
Within these walls, a prison made,
He toils alone, in endless shade.
Each day the same, a weary rhyme,
No warmth of sun, to mark the time.
Just endless tasks, and screens aglow,
A lonely vigil, none can know.
The silence screams, a haunting sound,
As doubts and fears, forever in mind.
So let him struggle, in this plight,
A battle waged, with inner might.
May truth or shadow prevail, and set him free,
From this despair, and find peace i decree.
Some days you wonder
