Solitude, Insecurity, Empty Spaces

In the empty spaces of solitude
the mirror paints a differant face from what I feel inside
You see the mask I hide behind, the smile that is so fake
but you can't see inside my mind

In the arms of solitude
all the backs are turned
and the only hand that reaches out to you
is your own, and it’s charred and burned

In the arms of solitude
you'd wish you could feel pain
because all of your surroundings are blurred
and your visions are a deadly mundane

In the arms of solitude
your rage cannot get away
because soon enough you discover
these arms are your own in some way

In the arms of solitude
somehow you feel at home
escape seems darker
so inside these arms you roam

The world seems different
Like waking from a coma
only to find that you have
Mere days before you die of old age


Things seem different these days
Like the faint, window pane reflections
apparitions floating by
distorted by rain

Or could it be that the rain
is not the distorter, it's
that the human race has distorted the view
of simple pleasures like reflections?

We never see what others see
they can't sense the pain
they tell you it's ok, all it fine
but I am cracking up, breaking down again