I find myself sitting here on the barrage staring at the city, questioning my significance.

I see spotlights shining into the sky from where revelers are drinking and dancing the night away. I wonder how many of them do that to fill a void.

I stare into the dark waters with that question. Why is there a void?

I wish I could yell out my frustrations but with people around, I can’t seem to be myself.

Do I even know the meaning of that anymore? “Myself”?

I find myself in the strange predicament of being a different person to different people. I can be the nice easy going person to some people but I have recently confided to someone about some of my baser urges and frustrations.

And it felt good. Was I repressed for so long?

Why can’t I confide some of these feelings to people I supposedly trust more? To people who are suppose to be close to me?

Is it easier to tell someone you don’t know about the dark side of your life? Is it wrong to suppress that dark side or is it wrong to embrace it?

I have a feeling that the answer lies somewhere in between.

In between the man and the monster that lies within.