Masks
He hides himself behind a goofy grin
(desperately trying)
to conceal the pain within.
A crack and he leaks
the sorrow spreads,
mingling with his life's tangled threads.
(Depression.)
He works and fights to keep control,
a weakening fire still burning within his worn soul.
But he knows he's losing his self-imposed war
(so he looks toward)
the light of hope that he will never again see
(to be locked away)
beyond his mental door.
Without a key.
(Now he)
looks around the crowded spaces
(and sees)
indifferent looks from familiar faces.
A darkness slowly begins to fill his heart,
A darkness
(perhaps)
that was there from the start.
He is lost, confused and utterly alone.
(He is)
A wondering spirit without a real home.
No one sees him without one of his masks
(not one)
as they go about their own meaningless tasks.
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It's an old poem that I'd written long ago when I was depressed, I recently found and rewrote it. I hope you liked it.