Masquerade

Pain is the portrait
Pride and torture,
Dreams seem real until the sun rises
Over these eyes, and 9-5 is
The only thing on the table for breakfast.
Should I roll over to fit the mold,
Die young and talk about past regrets when I get old.
Uncertainty is certainly my enemy.
Towering over my fears
Comparing myself with peers.
My sleeves are too short to produce tears,
I just smile and paint my
Fear in sarcasm,
Frantically searching for signs that
Writings on the wall
Lead down a hall to my purpose.
The earth is full of average;
Therefore my path had to
Be cut different,
My true self shouldn’t
Be this far from how I’m actually living.
A fraudulent account of an image,
And still I back through sliding doors
Steadily persevering,
Purpose awaits for dinner.

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