When eyes graze my skin,

They pierce like winter frost—

Searching for something familiar

In this masquerade of souls.

Beneath the city's electric pulse,

Where shadows dance with neon dreams,

I am a ghost in reverse:

Visible, yet unseen.

We craft our masks from morning dew,

Polish them with social grace,

While truth festers in our marrow—

A sweet rot we've learned to love.

Mirrors hold conspiracies:

One face for work,

One face for love,

One face for midnight confessions.

But who lives beneath these painted smiles?

This armor of acceptable lies?

Strip away the porcelain,

What trembling creature survives?

Some nights I peel back layers,

Like dead skin after summer burn,

Searching for that raw self—

The one I buried at birth.

Would you recognize me,

Naked of pretense,

Or would you turn away,

Preferring my perfect performance?

Perhaps true sight is blindness:

Eyes closed, hands reaching,

Touch mapping territories

No mirror dares reflect.