SOBBING

Why is it that because I smile they all assume I have no feelings?  Why is it that when I 
scowl they assume I have no heart?  Why is it when I'm sad they think I have no hope?  
People talk, and people stare.  Their hurtful words I cannot bear.

A concealing lie I shroud myself in to avoid the hazards I cannot accept.  I bend my reality
 until it works for me, contort my world until I don't know what truly exists anymore.  It's
 been so long sometimes the smile almost seems to hurt.  The burning of my eyes competes
 with the flames of my hatred.  The wet tears streaming down my cheeks remind me of a spring
 rain.  Nothing changes but the droplets strike true and leave a memory behind with them.
  Or maybe they take a memory with them; washing mysteries and tearful recollections away.

I feel dead inside; a carcass forced to live.  Skin pulled over an ever beating heart that
 blackened and shriveled long ago.  Emotions stripped away with years of misuse and limbs
 weak from eternities of torture.  Pleasure is so temporary and good things pass with the
 morning sun.  The reasons differ each time but in the end it's all the same.  Something is
 taken once I become comfortable with it, something I was running from is presented to me as
 I am chained down.  Speed loses its meaning after the world stops and my own breath is a
 pounding in my ears.

My broken breathing as I gasp for air, my tears choking the back of my throat and covering
 my face.  My resolve has long since been raped and my perseverance is only a mood I have
 when it suits me.  I can't see, the salty tears encompass my eyes and smear my landscape.
  The world loses its color and all I see are grays.  I hold out my hands, asking; begging
 'why?'.  The wind howls violently, almost mocking me in my foolish attempt to get control.
  There is no one with resolution, there is no savior to pray to now.

I feel dirty as I give myself up.  I surrender my soul and sell myself to those who'd take
 it.  I reprimand myself and do it again, do it and smile as if the pain made everything
 worth it.  Knife the others lest knife yourself point the finger until there is no one left
 standing, then allow your face to become a befumbled stupor.
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October 30, 2001 6:45:03 PM