Masquerade

I surround myself with images of beauty,
images of desire, images of popularity, images of what I long to be,
I become so lost in these pictures that I cease to matter,
all that's left of me is unfinished work.

I'm working on it, though.
I'll be so much more than I am now, don't worry.
I'll be that cool, funny, popular guy.
You'll see.

The closer I get to being him, the better things will be,
when I've shed the lost layers of myself
and covered myself in the expectations of the world,
I'll be comfortable being me.

No...that's not right...

Cause I've been him, I've worn those clothes and walked those roads,
the more I changed, the less I recognized myself,
the harder I tried, the more things really hurt,
and no matter what, I was in there all along, constantly letting myself down.

It comes down to this, who am I living my life for?
Those who look upon me with expectations and standards set for me to meet?
Or is it for myself? Am I living for enjoyment, fulfillment, and joy?
Or, even further, is it something greater that my life should be lived for?

How would the world look if we all shed our outer layers of protection and shelter?
What would it take for us to abandon our defences in hopes of really knowing love?