Little stories

My facade

It's hard sitting there. Being alone with your thoughts. The burning hand that punches the inside of your stomach, setting alight everything that kept you grounded.

I'm slowly fading away yet you don't notice. You see the smile and you see the laughs... but that's just my mask, the one that now has become just as battered and torn as my true self. I'm so worn out that the only cover I had has too become withered in self hate and poison of my own mind.

Each drop decays and stings the mind that was once at peace. Every false smile and laugh becoming more and more obvious. No, I don't want you to ask if I'm okay. Because I'm not.

This black hole that engulfs me has tied me to the bottom of its origins. A tight coarse rope that drags me down back to where I try to escape. Every inch of breath that's held with in my lungs becomes useless... I can't escape the oppression of my chest, the heavy weight of wondering lost thoughts that give you the inference of my well being.

We ignore truth for temporary happiness. Everyone says they like storms, so I let them in, but then I realise they can only handle a little rain... they can't handle me... the hurricane. This swirling disaster that becomes my reality, watching it pick up every breathing and living moment of my life and spit it out. It's hard to see your life fall apart when all you can do is stare. You stand behind a sound proof piece of glass screaming out, crying for help, crying for a better place to be than the prison you have made so not even yourself knows how to escape, but you forget no one can hear you. No one can hear your mind. You're trapped.

I am more fearful of my mind than most horrors in this disgusting world. But what I fear most is that one day you will see me the way I see myself.
Everything I do is not fake...

It's a facade.