I look inside with bated breath
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-a desperate hope that I will see.
Once again, my vision blocked,
the answer still a mystery.
I feel a fraud, an actor still.
To know myself-I never will.
Disattached from my own soul
No anchor-I am lost, adrift.
Emotions felt are just a role,
an actor working from a script.
My heart is nothing, solid stone.
Among the world and yet, alone.
Regarless of the things I feel,
I nonetheless am less than cold-
less than warm and less than real,
less than bought and less than sold
To my own self I would be true-
my self forever lost from view.