I sit with them, engage in conversation with them.
Still, they do not notice the fear glinting in my empty eyes,
Nor the familiar tugging at the long sleeves,
Nor the uneasiness in which I sit.
It is so easy to cover it up with a simple smile.
They don't know how much blood I have spilled,
They don't know how many nights I have stayed awake,
They don't know how I sit in silent turmoil
Patiently waiting for the hands of fate to decide my sorrow wrought future.
A body of water is enough to give me the forceful urge
To plunge my head into it and never resurface.
The sight of a blade is enough to give me the thoughts
Of driving it through my chest or throat.
Yet, I sit here, with this fake smile.
Suicide dancing frantic rhythms through my pounding cranium.
I will laugh.
To cover up the incessant tugging at my sleeves.
They do not see this monster I have become.
I mask the unspeakable truth with petty lies.
An "I'm okay".
Soon, I know I will hold that sharp little razor blade,
And slice my way through my skin.
They don't know just how much I need to shed my own blood,
They don't know how much I want to end my own life.
They can't see
Through this smile.
