A rough and tough exterior might hide weakness inside,
A person may be as dead as he is wide.
He might be hiding fears unknown,
He might have had chances blown.
He might wake up in a sweat at night,
Rushing to turn on the light.
Maybe he never even sleeps,
Just sits on his desk and weeps.
He might be broken; little shards of glass,
Hurting him when people pass.
He might be a shell, just bidding his time,
Wondering what was his crime.