Pretend

You don’t know me, no one does.
You never look deeper than the mask I wear to cover my true face;
If you looked deeper, you would see the smile I wear, is really a grimace.
My eyes shine not with pleasure or with happiness but with unshed tears;
My ears ring not with laughter but with painful taunts and jeers.

I see an endless procession of beautiful clones on parade,
Yet I hide, a monster behind my own painful façade.
Everyone else looks perfect and delicate like porcelain dolls,
When I dare look at them, how it spites my wretched soul.

Each time I look in the mirror, I try not to throw up;
The shaking in my hands is the anger inside me building up.
So ask me why my eyes look sore and red, do you want me to say I had a bad night?
Yes, I did but only because I was crying from dark until it got light.

Now alone in the dark, I claw at my own skin,
Writing in painful welts the hurt I feel within.
My eyes are glowing red, revealing the fire of self-hate that burns inside,
So to hell on the waves of sickness again let me ride.

I whisper feverently to myself; spit flying from my lips;
I look like a madman, my clothes soiled and ripped.
I hope there isn’t a god, because if there is then I am forsaken; forgotten;
A stake driven through my heart so that it is an empty shell, hollow and rotten.

If I could make myself care enough, I think I’d wish I were dead,
But all the lies and deceit that encase my soul have numbed all sense in my head.
So now as I rock back and forth a knife held in my hand,
I chuckle to myself, staring at an hourglass and the relentless pour of sand.

Just like everything I’ve ever loved; so time too deserts me;
Every person I cherish, turned from me in disgust at what it is they see.
What do they see? A horror from a childhood nightmare?
If they really opened their eyes, they would see much worse. Would you dare?

It seems even as I try to hide the dark, vile creatures dance upon my tongue ;
Foul breath of something dead, clawing out of my lungs.
The hate I see reflected in their eyes, choking, binding me like a thorny vine;
I feel them searching me looking for goodness; even just a small sign.

All the while I can’t help but think this person I am shouldn’t be me,
And why do people only see what they want to see?