Carbon Copy

I'm afraid there's not a single sincere bone in me

That all I am and have been, has been carefully woven and moulded to perfection 

Studied under the lens of critical eyes

Precisely arranged and polished to gleam

And when the day clocks out and night creeps in

I begin to unravel my skin. 

Funny, how I become more real when I dream

When I leap out of myself and touch the ceiling

Then, only then, am I true to my feelings

For all my decisions are another's 

All my words echo my mother.