I walk through halls of laughter loud,
Yet feel no joy within the crowd.
Their smiles curl like sharpened blades,
Each glance a shadow that invades.

They speak in tones both sweet and sly,
With hollow truths and well-groomed lies.
Their kindness drips in measured strings,
Concealing cold, unspoken things.

A touch, a nod, a fleeting cheer—
But none of it is truly near.
I’m drowning in their phantom grace,
Unseen behind my practiced face.

Are they sincere, or do they play
A game where masks must never stray?
Each heartbeat thumps a warning drum:
Trust no one, yet don't come undone.

So here I stand, alone, confined,
A ghost inside my own damn mind.
Surrounded, yet I cannot see
One soul who’d bleed to shelter me.

And still, I smile, a silent rite,
While demons watch behind their light.
For in this crowded masquerade,
I wear my doubt like armor made.