Cubical panes of vast emptiness
Separate my physical being from freedom.
Droplets of rain smash forcefully against
My, now, shattered, splintered and scattered reflection. 
On the walls of my grey holding cell, my shadows are cast.
Different hair and hidden eyes.
Individual clothes paired with my unique style.
They say the world is a stage,
Life is a performance,
There are no dress rehearsals
And that life should be enjoyed.
But who are they?
As I found in my short life,
Growing shorter as time grows longer,
The world is one huge parade,
Another happy show with a cast of millions,
Masses of people who set the rules of enjoyment,
Never including me in any form,
Other than as a passer-by,
Or a lowly audience member.
Instead of blending in, I find myself only sticking out.
Crowds either can't or won't accept me.
And, thus, I have resorted to my imprisoned state.
Hiding amongst the shadows and those slivers of lies I can grasp.
Unaccepted truth makes up the light which restlessly attempts to disturb me.
As the seconds tick by, I am one stop closer to the end.
Deep, throbbing lacerations scar me,
Though not in such a simple form as physically.
Only as a shadow, hidden amongst the shadows, can I survive.
Perhaps my actions consequences are locked as fate,
Similar to a jigsaw in having only one outcome when completed.
Maybe there is no fate, just a jumble of possible events
But then, who will ever know?
As unaccepted as I have become, soon it shall be different.
My fingerprints have been erased, like my place in society.
My differences, quirks evaporated like the sweat that coats me.
No longer will I stick out, like a butterfly in a crowd of moths,
For when I am finally found,
A strange, unwanted, unnatural fruit swinging from a twisted tree,
I shall finally become that which I was denied in my past:

The End

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