If you could be friends with yourself,

what would your answer be?

Do you even know who you are,

or are you also lying to me?

True self is now fiction

Originality’s been cast aside

A thousand faces with one routine

Truth replaced with filters and pride

They chase applause and acceptance

with their hollowed black eyes

Every perfectly curated life

Built out of easy white lies

But the mask is slipping, can’t you see?

A voice, a fire, a broken scream

Every now and then a fleeting view

Of the person trapped inside the dream

Can we muster up the courage?

Will we break free from the mold?

Or is the grass simply greener

When it’s covered head-to-toe in gold

No more questions asked

No more soul to be shown

Just empty clones online

Too scared of being alone

The stage lights will stay on

That’s right, we’re all going live

And the views will keep coming

Be sure to like, comment, subscribe

The mask is still slipping

But won’t ever fully fall

Quick glimpses of authenticity

Cut short by curtain call