A shroud of mystery is my cloak of identity.
Two faced, epitome of insanity laced with humanity.
As I exploit the many facets of my core,
Many characters dwindle in my mind unexplored.
I look in the mirror and in the reflection I see lies.
In time they cycle and enventually cringe and die.
Yet all of them have lived a life, cried for a time, and lost,
Loved in the moonlight of my lies, in the cloud of my thoughts.
Eventually blurring the line of identity of all its traces,
To a point where my own personality is lost in their faces.

__________________