Inside this mind
there's so much that I can hide
Everyday walking around with a smile on my face,
but not bearing the depths of my soul
A saddness not able to be consuled
When you're dead inside all you want to feel is alive
Behind everyone's inevitable masks
lies who they really are
How many people do you pass on the street
that you never really meet?
Each living a life of their own completely unattached to yours
yet brought together by a common schedule.
Why do we hide behind ourselves?
Simply because it's easier than putting ourselves out there
to be judged or hurt
We lay in bed contemplating life and death
But say nothing to those who are living beside us because we are afraid
Going about life in fear
Never letting anyone near
Is this called living or something else?