Lacking an identity,
Your presentation a farce, a culmination of strangers;
Drifting through this world, a shell of a man.
Acceptance your jail,
Impressions your warden,
Never knowing how it feels to create or imagine.
Never displaying yourself true, in fear of your environment.
Do you enjoy this? Equating validation to your happiness?
Dishonesty your elation, Truth your sorrow.
Living through other people, while dying on your own?
This isn’t life, and this isn’t living,
But can you afford to start again, from the beginning?