I can't remember,
when it started.
I just know,
that the shadows,
are always there.

The exist only ,
in the corners of my eye,
darting around,
like a ghost.

They began,
to look like people.
So know,
they are my shadow people.

And now,
I realize,
that I've been,
a shadow all along.

Almost invisible,
only moving in the dark,
and just beyond,
the grasp of others.

Standing atop a cliff,
Looking out to the sea.
The wind blows strong,
And churns the waters.

As the sun sets,
I look down,
At the waters,
That have carried me.

Then I begin to wonder,
What would happen,
If I dived in,
And let the waters,
Take me forever.

A boy went out,
On a journey to,
Calm the waves of his mind

When the boy returned,
He was greeted with smiles
In front of the house

However the boy,
Notice some who,
Had stayed inside,
And hid behind windows,
To hide their feelings,
Of sadness and trouble

The boy wanted,
to help these people,
But it had to be them,
Who opened the door.

Every day,
I wake up in a box room.

Each day,
there is something I must build.

Each night,
What I built disappears

And the cycle continues.

I wonder what it's like outside of this box,
Are other people also building in box rooms?

I will never know as I sit here,
Building every day,
In my little box.

Everyone has an infinite number of faces.
Each one is a different person,
Around different people.
And each is ever-changing.
But there is one that we all have,
at the very core of who we are.
This inner-most face,
this pure facade,
shows our true selves.
It is made up of our tragedies,
and our hopes and dreams.
It is a reflection of the consequences of life.
This is where our terrible demons hide,
and next to them our greatest ambitions.
The good and the bad,
existing together in us,
because without one,
the other cannot exist.
And so we repress our inner selves,
to hide the demons and desires,
but limit our passions.
So we put on a new mask,
and hope that can satisfy,
our hunger for a fulfilling life.
Only to be let down again,
and pushed to into a new skin,
where you can't say what you want to,
because that's not who you are to others.
And you can't look into the mirror,
without seeing a stranger,
dressed in strange clothes,
who talks strange,
and moves strange,
like a puppet on strings,
being control by our costumes,
that give us acceptance in society.
So puppet master,
mask makers,
costume weaver,
create the new person that society wants,
and toss away the real me,
all because of the dark secrets I can't tell.

It starts off so simple
Pitter patter,
Like finger drumming on a table.

Then comes the chorus,
Where the rain comes down
In showers for us.

Finally the thunder booms,
The lighting flashes,
And you feel the ground shake,
The sky crack,
And the earth beaten down

Then settles,
Pitter patter,
As it drips down of the trees.

Shouting,
That's all I hear now.
My parents shouting,
Everyday, never stopping.
My friend shouting,
Over what's right and what's wrong.
My thoughts shouting,
A constant storm,
That never quells.