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A poem

they say friends are supposed to be your anchors,

but i believe they are more like a drug.

In times of bad temper and turmoil,

i lay on them to show a smile.

But are they really friends?,

the ones who share their pictures,

the ones who appear on our screens,

with a huge smile and a grin.

It says "Friends" right above ,

and names lay below it on a list

but are snaps really words

if you're just looking for a stream?

when did we stop caring,

about our smile in silence,

about the happiness that's been blinded

by the histories full of ironies?

I wonder in my thoughts

I scream for help on my own

but when someone comes any near

I smile and show no fear.

What's going on in my life,

Who am I, am i fine?

Since I'm lost in crafting faces

Seams I'm waiting for your like

I'm afraid of being alone,

but is there anyone with me now?

it's The story we create

and the profile we make them check

But is there really any happiness

Or are we just fooling our selves?