my mask is solid.
concrete, diamond.
can they still see through?
or am i too good at what i do?
too good at faking it.

i have this story
a story so brilliant you'd cry.
but i'm afraid truth is too brutal;
too many teardrops on the page.

and i don't want the guilt
after discussing so much that kills.
thought becomes action.
so when do i die?

because i've been obsessing over it
for a while now.
but i've never gotten past desire.
the intense burn in the depth of my mind that says:

"make that noose. swallow those pills.
fuck the letters. they'll live."

because i know they will.
it's the way it goes.
i'm the lesson to be learned.
the story that will go unheard.

people keep telling me i should write a book.
can i lie and say i was fine?
because it was all just an act?
because i'm a fraud?

the truth hurts worse the second time around.
so let's not go for a third or a fourth.

my life has become more accepted.
i've become what i hate.
i've become a liar.
i've become a fake.
a poster child for survival.

i have never been well.
and it's no one's fault but mine.
i let it take me over.
i gave it my throat to strangle.
i gave it my heart to break.
i gave it my eyes to blind.
i gave it my bed to sleep in.
i gave it my lips to kiss.
i handed over my life.

why is it easier to let myself deteriorate?
why is it not expected of me?
why do they think i'm better than i was last year?
do they not see the tears?
do they not see the terror?
how about the hurt or the fear?
can they at least see the pain?

i've been lying here rocking back and forth.
trying to find some sleep.
the hunger is always keeping me awake.

and all of a sudden

as the wheels turn.
my heart stops.
my breath catches.
and my eyes become glassy.

i've finally gotten what i always asked for.
i'm finally alone.

because now no one knows me.
no one is even trying.
and i'm not making it any easier.

there's no one there for me.
no one to pick me up once i finally fall.

i'm alone.
i'm really alone now.
and there's no turning back.



 

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