The night sets in again.  Long, endless and dreary.  It falls upon me like a weight, for I know that with the coming of dawn, I will still be me.  The masks I wear are incomplete, never fully able to reflect the outward appearance that I wish to show.  There isn’t a mask for confidence.  The mask I wear keeps most people off my back; keeps them at bay so that they don’t vocalize their worry.  This is the mask I wear the most.  With plastic smile I walk through my day, faking out the world into thinking all is well.  They see it, they know it, and they expect nothing less.  Truth be told, the man beneath the porcelain facade is a crumbling creature with little left to keep him sane.