Eye am the black sheep, the wanderer lost in the shadows,
The one who stands apart, where no warm light follows.
Unwanted, unloved, like a gust of wind's chill,
I drift alone through the corridors of empty will.

The din of family gatherings, a distant echo,
A place where my presence is a constant no-show.
I am the odd note in a song perfectly played,
The silent, invisible, in the world's masquerade.

In the mirror, a stranger looks back, eyes so hollow,
Searching for a connection, for a place to follow.
But no familiar face greets me in the crowd,
No kindred spirit, no heart unbowed.

I am the ghost at the feast, the shadow at the door,
The one who never belonged, who was always ignored.
Their laughter, their joy, a cruel, distant sound,
I am the silence that echoes, where no comfort is found.

Among the faces, I am the faded ink...