A man with two face, to love and to hate,
Smiling at his sorrows as though they are great.
Saying to himself the back is white,
The darkness that surrounds him is nothing but dim light.
How can he overcome himself,
As to him idealist and realist is the same.
Little did I know, being him is a lot of pain.
Yet, he is me and I am him.
Exploring the world, from inside of a box,
Contradicting myself as though a paradox.