Look at the pride that surrounds my exterior,
Marvel at the confidence in my step,
Hear the depth of my words,
Words with profound depth.
Turmoil is what you will never see
On my face,
This face that never exposes
The dark hidden within.
Therefore do not be fooled by the illusion
Projected by an imperfect collection
I hold my sanity
By a thread dangling off the edge of a cliff,
At the bottom of that cliff a terrifying ravine,
Filled with all the things that remains unresolved.
Illusionist has become my daytime trade
But when the night falls
Alone with my thoughts,
With the voices in my head
I become the weeping willow
These voices seem louder now
Without the hustle and bustle
Of my life to distract me.
Without the concentration
Of maintaining my pose,
Defences are down
Not willingly but forced
Unable to rest
I am tired.
During the day I muster up strength to project
At night I am plagued by what I have buried.
All my soul needs is a moment,
A single moment to shut down
Completely from everything and everyone
But i find no solace from this forlorn existence.