What happens within
Never shows without
It’s the oldest idea
When did we become so false?
Or were we always?
Hiding the hollows
Hiding the shocks
The unfortunate tune
Of a life marked by ink
I stab the pen
Bleeding my existence into the words
Will they see me now?
Will they see that I am made of black and blue?
Will they see that I feed off pain
Like a newborn feeds off sticky milk?
Why do I?
Why do I do what I never want to?
Are my goals and dreams that toxic to me?
Life should have warning labels for each action
Yet I consider myself happy
I consider myself successful
But for whom?
Not myself, Not really anyway
One day- I will spill my liquid
One day- They will see Me- only Me and My true dreams